


All this and heaven too

by champagneleftie, nofeartina



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Homophobia, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Themes, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneleftie/pseuds/champagneleftie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina
Summary: The first time, it’s just a hookup, a quick blowjob in a club bathroom.The next time Isak pretends he’s never seen him before. But maybe that’s because they’re at church. And the pastor is Isak’s dad.Even shouldn’t want the closeted pastor’s son like this, but it’s impossible not to. Especially when he’s already had a taste.orthe Isak is a (closeted) pastor’s son AU that Maugurt really wanted to read (and since it’s her birthday, we wrote it for her).





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maugurt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maugurt/gifts).



> This is for the best girl in the world. It’s her birthday today and we really wanted to do something special to celebrate her, so we wrote this “little” fic for her together.  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAUGURT! We love you! <3
> 
> A million thank yous to Immy for betaing this monster!
> 
> We hope you all enjoy. :)

”Fuck,” the guy whispers into Even’s ear, his lips and tongue leaving a wet trail on Even’s skin, and it makes Even clench his eyes and push the guy even harder into the wall.

Everything is so hot and wet and Even just wants more. Wants more of this guy’s kisses, more of his hard body, more of those sounds Even is coaxing out of him. He can feel the bass throb through his shoes, can feel it pulse through his body and settle in his chest, his muscles, his ears, until every part of him is vibrating, stretched taut like a guitar string on the verge of snapping.

Even’s dick is so hard in his jeans, already wetting his briefs, and it feels mind-numbingly good when he rubs it against the guy’s thigh. It makes sparks of electricity shoot through his body, makes his skin tingle and the hairs on his arms rise. 

Even didn’t come here to hook up. And he definitely didn’t expect to hook up with a boy. This isn’t really that kind of club, even if it’s been known to happen from time to time.

But he’s not regretting it. Not at all.

Not when the guy feels perfect against him, hard in all the right places, soft lips and soft hair. Even rolls his hips again and is rewarded with another pretty moan. The guy’s lips finds his again and Even immediately pushes his tongue inside his mouth, lost in how good he tastes. The guy pushes back, gives as good as he gets and all that latent strength in his body makes Even’s dick twitch and makes him desperate to get him alone. They’ve been making out in this dark corner for a while, out of reach from the flashing lights and the loud music, totally oblivious to their surroundings, and Even is about to burst.

He’s just about to pull back and ask, when the guy does this thing with his tongue that scrambles Even’s mind and makes him forget anything but his clever tongue and clever hands that are finding their way into Even’s back pockets.

And suddenly it’s Even’s turn to mutter  _ fuck!, _ completely overwhelmed by how good this guy is. 

He wants more.

He opens his mouth, but before he can ask the guy beats him to it.

“You want to take this somewhere else?” he asks, straight into Even’s ear, sending shivers down Even’s spine and he’s so desperate with want that he just nods stupidly.

He lets the guy take his hand, lets him lead him away from the dark corner by the dancefloor of the club and towards the toilets.

Even’s never done it in a toilet before. It feels like such a cliché, complete with sticky floors, terrible lighting and crude graffiti on the walls, but right now he just doesn’t care. He was ready to pull this guy’s dick out right here on the dancefloor and make himself choke on it, so he’s just grateful that the guy has a plan for them.  

As soon as they’re inside one of the stalls, the door locked behind them, the guy pushes at Even’s shoulder, and Even goes without a fight. He needs to taste this guy’s dick, needs to find out if it’s as pretty as the rest of him.

The guy is fighting his belt, is trying to open it with one hand while pushing at Even’s shoulder with the other and Even fights a laugh as he starts helping him. 

“What’s your name?” Even asks as he’s opening the belt and the guy stills for a few seconds before he answers.

“Isak.” 

Even almost gets the feeling that Isak isn’t happy with the name he just gave Even. He’s almost completely sure that he’s just been given a fake name, but he doesn’t really care. He’s not going to date this guy, he’s just going to suck him off and then hopefully have him return the favor, so he just pretends not to notice.

“Hi Isak, I’m Even.” 

He looks up at Isak as he says it, leans into his body so his eyes gets big and inviting and he knows he makes quite a sight on his knees like that. Isak swallows over him, pupils blown and Even watches in fascination as his mouth opens like he can’t get enough air. Even doesn’t take his eyes from him as he pulls Isak’s dick out.

He considers saying something corny like  _ nice to meet you _ but Isak looks so desperate now, his grip on Even’s shoulder almost too hard, so Even just goes for it instead. 

He wraps his hand around Isak’s hard dick to steady it, keeps his eyes on him as he licks a small lick over the top of it. Just the tip of his tongue, just a tiny sample of what Even can do with that tongue and he loves how it makes Isak sigh, makes his dick twitch. He puts his lips on the tip, a wet open-mouthed kiss that he knows guys love because of the way his lips look when he does it, all big and perfect for blowjobs. He takes advantage of that fact, loves how Isak’s mouth is hanging open now, how he’s breathing faster, pupils blown, and he revels in the way Isak looks at him.

Even loves putting on a show like this, gets off on how turned on the guys he’s with are by how he looks when he’s blowing them.

He lingers there for a few long seconds, just to make Isak desperate with it, and then he takes the full length into his mouth and gives it his all. He knows that he’s good at it and he loves doing it. Loves the weight on his tongue, the heat in his mouth. How it stretches his lips and makes his mouth water. 

It doesn’t take long before the taste of precum overtakes everything else, before he feels Isak’s thighs shake against him and he leans back and finishes him off with his hand. No way he’s swallowing for a complete stranger in a club bathroom.

Isak is beautiful when he comes, face contorted in pleasure and it makes Even’s own dick throb and crave attention inside his briefs.

When Isak is done he slumps against the wall of the bathroom, just blinking, breathing, basking for a few long seconds, and then he turns his attention on Even.

It doesn’t take much for Even. Not when he’s already so on edge, not when Isak looks like he  _ belongs  _ there, on his knees in front of Even. Like this is what he was made for. His lips look perfect stretched over Even’s dick, that fucking cupid’s bow and those huge eyes looking up at him and making Even harder than he’s ever been. He can hardly breathe from it.

He finishes much quicker than he would have liked.

Apparently Isak doesn’t have quite the same hang-ups about cum as Even does, because he lets Even come in his mouth and all that wet heat around his dick as he’s coming just adds to it, makes this one of the best orgasms Even’s ever had.

Isak gets up from the floor, lips pinched from how his mouth is full of cum, and he leans in over the toilet just as there’s a loud bang on the door.

“You’re not allowed to fuck in there,” an angry voice shouts,the banging intensifying. Isak looks up at Even, his eyes wide and worried, his face suddenly very pale. 

It almost looks like he’s afraid.

It makes Even want to protect him. Despite the fact that he doesn’t really know Isak, despite the fact that he just came and therefore doesn’t really have any use for him anymore – he still wants to keep him safe.

So, as low as he can, he whispers for him to spit, nodding at the toilet, and Isak does, loudly and obnoxiously, spits all of Even’s cum into the bowl, and Even pulls the lever, washing all the evidence away. He quickly tugs himself in and rights his clothes and watches as Isak does the same.

The banging on the door doesn’t let up. When Even finally opens the door they come immediately face to face with a furious security guy.

“Chill, man,” Even says, trying to sound as casual as possible “I was just helping my friend here. He’s had too much to drink,” He points to Isak over his shoulder, and Isak plays the part perfectly, looks drunk and sways over the toilet and even spits into the bowl a couple of times more. “Would you rather I let him puke all over the dancefloor?”

The guy looks at Isak, back at Even, and then at Isak again. It doesn’t quite look like he believes them, but they both, somehow, manage to keep up the appearances, and he finally just tells them to leave. Even salutes him obnoxiously and pulls Isak behind him, out of the bathroom, out into the club again.

As they enter the throng of people on the dancefloor he lets go of him, and the next time he turns around he’s nowhere to be seen.

Even stays for another couple of hours, enjoys himself even more now that all the tension has been sucked out of him. He doesn’t look for Isak in the club, doesn’t seek him out again even though he’s probably there in the crowd somewhere.

He’s already gotten what he came for.

\--||--

Even is doing his best to look alive. He’s bored out of his mind, but he knows how important this is to his parents, so he does his best to at least pretend to be interested. 

He owes them that much.

The office is horrifyingly brown, just like the rest of this tiny town, where nothing seems to have changed in at least four decades. The chair cushions are clad in a scratchy mossy greenish brown, the curtains an orangey brown that looks disgustingly like puke. In fact, every piece of furniture in here is some shade of brown. There’s even wooden panelling on the walls. It makes the office look like something out of the 70s, even though the man sitting on the other side of the (brown, massive) desk doesn’t look  _ that _ old.

“My son should be here any second now,” the minister says, pushing the plate of dry, sugary, cookies towards him again, and smiling that placating smile at Even. The one he’s seen in a million different versions, the one that says  _ it’s going to be alright _ . 

Even  _ hates  _ that smile.

But he returns it because he has to. He can’t disappoint this man, not yet. He already knows he will at some point, because somehow, that’s what he always does.

He takes another cookie. 

His parents are sitting on either side of him, chairs pulled right up to the desk. His mother twists the cheap IKEA mug in her hands, the coffee in it so weak it almost looks like tea. His father has a few cookie crumbs on his pants that he doesn’t seem to have noticed. They’re looking at this minister like he’ll help them solve all their problems.

Even isn’t quite so sure. Especially since their biggest problem is him. 

He zoned out in the first five minutes, as the minister droned on about the work the congregation does, their youth groups, the worship band. Tried to answer as noncommittally as possible when he hinted that Even could join one of them. Maybe he’d like to contribute to their Friday youth café, or help out with the confirmation group? 

That’s the last thing he wants. But he knows better than to say that out loud. 

And now they’re just waiting for the minister’s fucking son, probably summoned to try to drag Even into their fold. Push him into the nice and easy cookie cutter mold that he’s sure his parents would prefer if he could just make himself fit into. 

The door opens behind them and as one, Even and his parents turn to see the minister’s son enter. 

He doesn’t quite know what he was expecting. Someone brown and boring, just like this office, probably. Someone  _ nice. _ Unthreatening. But the boy entering is wearing a red snapback over blond curls, a grey hoodie and skinny jeans that looks like they’re painted on a pair of very pretty legs.

Even knows him. Knows this blonde, intimately. Knows what that face looks like when he comes. Knows what those lips look like, stretched around his dick. 

Isak looks at Even, wide-eyed, lips parted. His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, and Even is reminded of just what that tongue can do. 

Isak hesitates just for a second too long, before he seems to pull himself together, looks away from Even and closes the door behind him.

“What’s going on, dad?” he asks and his dad motions for him to come closer.

“This is Even,” he says and points at Even and Even holds his hand for Isak to shake. Isak’s dad talks over them as he does. “He’s just moved here with his parents.” Isak lets go before Even does, and Even watches him clench his hand into a fist by his side as his dad keeps talking. “He’s starting at the same school as you, so I thought it would be very helpful if you could show him around a bit, take him under your wing until he settles in.”

Isak looks at his dad, stunned, and glances quickly at Even, cheeks a bit more flushed than they were seconds ago. 

He looks so pretty like this.

“Sure, I can do that,” Isak says, turns to Even, and despite the flush painting his cheeks, despite the fact that he obviously recognises Even just as much as Even recognises him, Even is struck by how normal he sounds. “So what class are you starting in?”

Even clears his voice, glances briefly at Isak’s dad who is positively beaming at them, and then he says, “I start in 3STB on Monday. I could really use all the help I can get.”

He’s a little bit amazed by how good Isak is at pretending that they’ve never seen each other before, how comfortable and approachable he looks, but all he can do is act the same. He’s sure that Isak has a good reason to act like this.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that reason is called Terje and is his new minister.

A couple of minutes later they’re leaving the office, and his parents are already raving about how easy it will be to settle in here, how nice Terje seems, how welcoming, and Even tries to pretend that he is following their conversation. That his mind isn’t stuck on Isak.

He can’t wait to get him alone again.

\--||--

Isak’s dad’s sermon is the longest Even has ever had to sit through. 

At least it feels like it right now. He has a way of speaking that is incredibly monotonous. There are no inflections, no change in tone. Just a long, continuous string of words, completely devoid of any enthusiasm or emotion, as he paces back and forth in front of the huge, gaudy painting behind the altar, a blonde and blue-eyed Jesus bathed in light, like something out of a 50s children’s bible.

And on top of that, his voice is kind of nasal, like he has a permanent cold. 

Even’s not good at these things. He’s not good at keeping still for long periods of time, it just reminds him of the fact that sometimes he’s  _ too  _ good at keeping still.

But at least he can spend it watching Isak. He’s sitting on the stage with the rest of the worship band, balancing the bass on his thighs, that are straining a bit against those goddamn tight jeans. He’s dressed up a bit today, wearing a nice shirt. No snapback on his head, just those curls that Even remembers holding on to. He can still feel them twisting around his fingers, smooth at the base of his neck, rougher at the top of his head. 

It’s the best kind of distraction.

He twists the program between his hands, folds it as small as he can and smooths it out again, just to keep his hands busy. Tries to imagine that it’s Isak’s hair against his fingers, instead of just paper. Isak’s body.

Isak looks at him exactly once. 

Throughout the entire service, he seems to be completely focused. During the sermon, his eyes never leave his dad, instead nodding along as if he’s actually saying something interesting and profound, and not just the same tired take on the text that Even’s heard a million times in his life. When he plays, a tiny frown appears between his brows, as he concentrates on the sheet music, his lips moving as he mouths along to the words. 

But he looks at Even once. 

It’s just towards the end of the service. Isak’s dad gets up, again, and stands in front of the congregation to lead them in the Lord’s prayer. All around Even, heads bow. On the stage, the band close their eyes and put down their instruments. The singer nods along to the words, a satisfied smile on her face. She looks like she thinks they’re her words, like she’s the one telling them how to pray. 

Isak’s curls fall into his face when he bends his head, hands crossed around the neck of the bass placed between his legs. 

Even takes the time to observe him in peace, while everyone else has their eyes closed in prayer. Isak’s eyelashes fan out over his cheeks, visible even from where Even’s sitting. With the way the light hits him from the side window, he even rivals storybook Jesus. 

And then, just as his father says  _ and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil _ – Isak looks up. 

Just for a second. 

He looks up, and he looks straight at Even. 

Their eyes meet, over row after row of bent necks and clasped hands. 

Even’s throat runs dry. 

And Isak looks down again. 

His jaw is clenched, sharp like a knife. There’s a new flush tinting his cheeks pink. 

\--||--

He waits until the service is over, lingers as people start to leave because he can see that Isak is doing the same. His mom raises an eyebrow at him in silent question, but he just shrugs his shoulders in reply and gestures vaguely towards Isak, gathering up his sheet music on the stage, hoping that that will convey that he’s going to help Isak tidy up.

Really, he just wants to be alone with him.

As people slowly start to trickle out the church and into the café, chatting amongst themselves, shaking Terje’s hand, Even starts picking up stray programs and left behind hymnals.

Just to have an alibi to stay. 

He doesn’t look at Isak as he does it, just piles the books precariously in the crook of his arm, row after row. He hears Isak fold up note stands, gather up microphone cords. 

Feels him glance at him, over and over again.

They work in silence, until the last elderly lady shuffles out of the room.

As the door slams shut behind her, Even looks up. Isak is looking at him now, a cymbal in one hand, a pair of drum sticks in the other. When Even meets his gaze, his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. 

Fuck, that tongue. 

Even swallows. Tries to stay cool. He has no idea what this is, what it means that Isak pretended that they didn’t know each other when they met in his father’s office the other day. 

He just knows that he needs to find out. 

He nods to the hymnals in his arms, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary that he’s here, or that they’re doing this. 

“Where do these go?” 

Isak licks his lips again and Even’s eyes are glued to that little tip of tongue, to the memory of what that tongue can do. Can make him feel. 

“Uhm, over there.” Isak clears his throat, and points with the drum sticks at a low cabinet at the back of the room. Even nods and makes his way over there. He feels Isak’s eyes on him the entire way. 

He takes his time arranging the books in the cabinet, stacking them neatly. He has to bend over to do it, and he can’t help but lean over instead of bending at the knees, knows what his ass looks like in these jeans when he does, knows that Isak is probably looking. He moves the books around a bit more than is strictly necessary, just because he can. 

Who knows when he’ll get this opportunity again? 

But when he turns around, stretching out and rolling his shoulders back, Isak isn’t hastily looking away, like he expected. Instead, he drags his eyes over Even’s body, legs to thighs to chest, a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth. When he reaches Even’s face, Even can see the gleam in his eye.

It’s the same gleam that was there the first time he laid eyes on Isak, in a crowd, under flashing lights. The same gleam that led to that toilet stall blowjob. 

Even’s throat runs dry. He just doesn’t know what this is. What this means. What Isak wants. 

Isak looks around him, at the drum kit that is still half set up on the stage, the mics and note stands. 

“Feel like helping me with this, too?” And the way he says it, that playful lilt to his voice – that could convince Even to do  _ anything _ .

There’s a tiny room behind the altar, windowless, filled to the brim with instruments, music books, amplifiers. Isak pushes the door open with an elbow in a move that tells the tale of countless Sundays spent just like this. He moves quickly, putting everything in its place, doesn’t stop once to consider where anything belongs. 

It looks like he could do this in his sleep. 

Even just stands there, two mics in one hand, three note stands in the other, his back holding up the door. 

Isak takes the mics from him, pulls out a clear plastic box and drops them there. They thud against the rolled up cables in the bottom. 

He looks so confident like this that Even can barely stand it. It’s clear that they’re on Isak’s turf now, that this is where he feels at home. And Even feels like he has to take back the initiative a bit. So he leans his head back against the door, pulls a bit at his lower lip with his teeth and peers at Isak through his lashes – like he did that night at the club. 

“So, I feel like I’ve seen you before” he says, smirking at Isak. Teasing him, a little, and he can’t wait to see how he’ll react. Has to know if he’ll deny it, deny ever seeing Even before.

Isak looks down at the music books he’s holding in his hands, shuffles them around a little even though Even is pretty sure they’re already in order. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You do?” he asks, and that tongue darts out again, leaving his bottom lip glossy and even more inviting than before, before he glances up, just for a second. 

It sends shivers through Even’s entire body. 

Isak knows exactly what he’s doing. Even’s sure of it. He knows exactly what kind of effect he has on Even, what it does to him when he looks at him like that. All he wants is to drop the stuff he’s holding, get his fingers deep into Isak’s curls and crowd him up against the wall, the bookcase, the electric piano, anything. Kiss him senseless, right here in the music room. 

A door opens, and shuts. 

“Isak?” Terje’s voice, nasal and insistent, reaches them from outside the little room. 

Isak’s face goes blank. 

The transformation is instant. Any trace of flirtiness, of anything but mandated politeness is gone. When Even looks back at him, all he sees is the Isak he met in Terje’s office. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d just met, too. 

“In here!” Isak calls out, and Terje’s face appears in the door behind them, grinning. 

“Hi boys!” he says. “So, Isak, you’re showing Even the ropes? Plugging the worship team?” He places a heavy hand on Even’s shoulder, shaking him a little as he does. “Do you play anything, Even? Sing, maybe? Or maybe you have some other gift we can take advantage of?” He laughs at his own joke, and Even has to wonder: what would he say, if he knew? 

Isak smiles weakly at his dad, and starts to sort the books and sheet music into the bookshelf. 

“We were just talking about school,” he says, and once again Even can’t help but be impressed with how nothing about him reveals that he’s lying. “About... what bus to take. And stuff.” 

Terje turns to Even and smiles, squeezing his shoulder again.

“You don’t bike, Even?” he asks, and behind him, Even can see Isak widen his eyes, obviously signalling for Even to play along. But before he can respond, Terje starts talking again. “Isak used to bike, all through winter actually, but then his bike broke down a few weeks ago, so now he has to get up and take the bus instead! And Isak hates mornings, don’t you Isak?” He grins at his son, and Isak smiles back, the smile that Even is quickly realizing is reserved for placating his dad. 

A smile that seems to have the added purpose of not leading to any follow up questions. 

He wonders how many smiles Isak has. 

He needs to find a way to get him alone, to get to know him, to learn everything about him. 

“Actually, I drive,” he hears himself say. “I was just saying to Isak that we could ride together.” 

Behind his father’s back, Isak’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. So do Terje’s, but unlike Isak’s they’re accompanied by his seemingly ever-present smile. 

“Really?” he asks, excitedly. “How nice of you! Isn’t it, Isak?” 

“Very,” Isak agrees, and there’s just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Terje doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Well! It’s great to see you settling in so well already Even,” he says, instead, gesturing to the note stands that Even’s still holding. “Isak, I really just came to tell you that mom and I are leaving now. You’ll come home when you’re done?” 

Isak nods, and with a wave, Terje is gone. 

When they’re alone again, the silence fills the room, shrouds them in this weird tense atmosphere that makes Even desperate to think of something to say. Instead Isak takes a step towards Even, two, three, until they’re so close that their chests are almost touching.

For a moment, Even almost expects Isak to kiss him. 

Instead, Isak takes the note stands out of his hand and steps away. 

“So,” he says. “I guess we’re driving to school together tomorrow.” 

His voice is infuriatingly neutral, like he thinks his dad might still hear them. But Even is pretty sure that he isn’t imagining the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

As Even nods all he can think of is how he wants to see more of that.

\--||--

That Monday Even picks Isak up. He can hardly breathe from the prospect of having him all to himself for the entire drive. He even tries the breathing-exercises his therapist has tried to make him do for ages, just to see if they can actually help calm him down.

They don’t.

Especially when he sees Isak standing outside his house by the curb, looking down into his phone. He doesn’t really look like he’s made an effort, he looks like he did that time in the office with a hoodie and a snapback. But somehow, he’s the most delicious thing Even has ever seen, and his heart is beating through his chest as he stops the car in front of him.

Isak looks up from his phone and smiles and that smile makes Even’s stomach burst with fireworks. He’s almost ashamed of how fast his own face lights up in a smile much bigger than Isak’s.

Isak gets in the car, buckles up, and Even releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when Isak seemingly doesn’t notice his over-eagerness. 

“Do you know the way?” Isak asks, and Even nods at his phone in the windscreen showing the google maps directions and Isak nods once and looks forward.

So Even starts the car.

It’s amazing how much tension fits into a car. Even is acutely aware of every move Isak makes, his every breath. He can hear every time he swallows as if he’s about to speak and Even’s so on edge that he’s not even sure he’s breathing anymore. Or how he manages to focus enough to be able to drive.

He’s desperately wracking his brain for something to say,  _ anything _ , but he’s drawing a blank. It’s not like he’s rehearsed anything beforehand, he’s never had this problem before. It’s usually so easy for him to talk to people, to flirt. More often than not he’s the one making them flustered and he’s just not used to it being the other way around.

If Isak ever actually did anything more than just sit there looking pretty, like if he actually started  _ flirting _ with Even, Even isn’t really sure how he would react to that. He would probably combust.

Isak clears his throat, glances briefly at Even and it’s enough to send Even into high-alert.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he says.

Even smiles, glances at him from the corner of his eye and shrugs. “Sure, no problem.”

There’s a few long seconds of silence where Even is cursing himself for not replying with something else, some kind of question that would make Isak talk. As the seconds tick by the silence turns awkward and pressing and Even has to find something to say. He  _ has _ to.

“You can turn on the radio if you want?” he finally says and almost sighs in relief when he manages to sound normal. He feels Isak looking at him and he desperately wants to turn his head to watch him back, but the traffic is getting heavy enough that he has to focus on it.

“The music they play on the radio here is shit,” Isak says, all casual and suave.

Even breathes through his nose exactly twice before he says, “You can plug your phone in? There should be a cable there for you to use if you want to.”

Ten points for sounding like a human being. Ding-ding-ding.

Even is quite pleased with how Isak says  _ sure _ and starts hooking up his phone. He’s suddenly so goddamn curious about what kind of music Isak listens to, whether it’s worship music like what he played during the Sunday service, or if it’s something that Even would actually enjoy listening to.

He’s almost relieved when NWA starts playing, but only almost, as NWA wouldn’t be his first pick when listening to rap.

“You like 90s rap?” he asks and doesn’t even try to hide the happy surprise in his voice.

He risks glancing at Isak just to see him shrug and nod, listens to him rap along to the first two lines of the song before saying, “It’s the kind of music you listen to when you want to act tough.”

Jesus Christ, this boy is so cute. This line kicks in Even’s natural flirtatiousness and he doesn’t even have to think about his response before it’s out there.

“Oh yeah, you like to act tough?”

Isak huffs and Even can just picture the eyeroll he’s sure accompanies it and it makes Even laugh delightedly.

“No, it’s just…” Isak says but Even’s laugh interrupts him and he never finishes the sentence.

His sudden silence makes Even look at him briefly again and the way Isak looks back at him, crooked smile, like he’s proud of the fact he made Even laugh, makes it really difficult for Even to tear his eyes away from him.

“I decide the music on the way back,” Even says, doesn’t ask.

It becomes easier to breathe in the car after that, and the conversation flows a little bit easier between them. Music is a safe topic for the both of them it seems, Even could talk about it all day and all night. And luckily for him, it seems like Isak’s the same.

Before he knows it they’ve arrived at the school and after he’s managed to find a decent parking spot he turns to look at Isak.

“So when are you off today?”

Isak takes a deep breath before he says, “You really don’t have to do this, you know?”

Even shakes his head immediately, “No, I want to. I want to get to know you.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s afraid that he’s gone too far, said too much. There are so much between them that they haven’t addressed, the proverbial elephant in the room, and he’s afraid that he’ll scare Isak away if he’s too forward.

But Isak just smiles and looks down at his hands, and he looks so pleased by Even’s answer that Even has to clench his jaw to keep himself from telling Isak just how into him he already is.

“Okay. Then I’m off at three.”

“I’ll wait for you here.”

Even doesn’t really care that he doesn’t even know his own time-table yet, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows that no matter what he’s going to meet Isak here at three.

Nothing could be more important than that.

\--||--

When Friday comes around, Even has been the dutiful driver for Isak all week, and it’s slowly, slowly becoming easier to talk to each other. Even even gets a smile now, one of those proper real ones, when he rolls up to the curb in front of Isak’s house and it feels like some kind of victory every time he sees Isak smile like that.

Isak is waiting for him by the car when school’s finally done. Even is exhausted, it’s been a long week what with starting a new school, finding new friends, navigating new roads. He’s slept like a baby every night. And honestly, this developing crush on Isak is just adding to it.

Because Even is falling. Hard.

Isak is just so… much. His laughter makes Even’s heart beat faster, his smile makes his own face light up every time and the way he looks at Even… Even can’t help the way his entire body flushes at it. He’s never quite had this kind of visceral attraction to anybody. It doesn’t really matter what Isak does or what he says, it’s just having him there in the car, being able to breathe him in, to listen to the timbre of his voice, to see how long his legs are when he glances over. 

It’s almost overwhelming.

It’s all Even can do to keep attention on the road and on the fact that he’s actually driving a car. He doesn’t want to hurt Isak, so he does his best. But it’s hard. Isak is making it so hard for him. All he wants to do is look.

Even unlocks the door and they get in at the same time. But instead of starting the car, Even looks at Isak and immediately gets tongue-tied from how bright Isak’s eyes are as they look back at him. He pauses long enough for Isak to huff out a laugh.

“Aren’t we going home?”

Even can’t help the way his entire face mirrors Isak’s, lighting up in a smile. Isak is making it so easy for him, easy for him to tell him the idea that’s been playing on his mind all day.

“I’m not keen on going home. Not right now,” he says and waits for Isak to catch on.

Isak turns in his seat so he’s facing Even a bit more and then he says, “What are you keen on doing then?” and Even is pretty sure that he doesn’t mean for it to sound so dirty, but to Even it  _ does _ and he has to swallow hard before he can answer.

“I’m keen on finding somewhere to chill,” he answers as he opens the pocket of his jean jacket so Isak can see what’s in there.

He revels in how Isak’s eyes turn wide and how his smile grows a bit when he sees the two fat joints there.

“Fuck, yeah,” Isak says and turns those bright green eyes on Even once again. “I know just the place we can go.”

So Even starts the car.

\--||--

At first, they share the joint in relative silence. They’re parked on a small gravel path, almost hidden completely from the road by a row of trees and they both have their windows rolled down, seatbelts off, slouching in their seats.

“Where did you get this from?” Isak says as he’s done letting out a big lung of smoke and Even loves looking at him while he does. He’s so pretty with his lips puckered. It’s very obvious that this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

“I still have a small stash left. I used to know this dude where we lived before…” He let’s the sentence taper off into silence. Is suddenly uncertain of whether Isak would even want to know why they moved here, or if he really wants to tell him.

Isak must sense it on him, because he just nods and relaxes back in his seat even more. And it makes Even relax too. The fact that Isak gives him an out, doesn’t demand to know what Even has a hard time saying.

“Well. This is some good shit,” Isak says. He closes his eyes for a few long seconds, and Even can’t stop looking. It’s so good to finally be able to.

It’s quiet between them once again, while Isak takes the joint from Even, while he takes a long drag of it and keeps the smoke in. But this time the silence isn’t uncomfortable. The weed is definitely helping, is easing the atmosphere between them, is making the silence less pressing.

So Even follows Isak’s lead, leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath just to let some of the tension out that he’s been accumulating all week.

“I can’t believe you’ve moved here,” Isak says and when Even looks at him he’s gazing out the window, looking away from Even as he talks. “I hate this place.”

There are a million things Even wants to ask Isak, but he waits. Has the feeling that Isak isn’t done talking yet.

“As soon as I’m done with school I’m out of here.” His voice sounds detached, like it’s something he’s told himself over and over again, but still doesn’t quite believe.

“Where are you going?” Even says casually, trying to sound like he isn’t dying to know, and motions for Isak to pass the joint back to him. There’s one hit left and he takes it to occupy himself, hoping Isak will answer his question.

“I’m going to Oslo.” This time Isak sounds so sure of himself as he says it, the answer comes promptly, like he doesn’t even have to consider it. Even just wants to know more.

“What’s in Oslo?” he asks, and hopes that the answer isn’t a boyfriend. He can’t stand the idea of Isak being with anybody else.

“Nothing,” Isak says and sighs. He’s quiet for a few long seconds but then he looks at Even and smiles, “Everything.”

Even frowns but before he can ask Isak offers the information himself.

“I’m so fake here, always hiding, always afraid what will happen if my parents find out who I really am.”

He sighs again and rubs his face hard with both his hands. Instead of continuing he asks, “Didn’t you have two joints?”

Even pats his pocket even though he knows it’s still there and hands it to Isak. He holds the lighter for him like some kind of gentleman in an old movie and Isak looks at him with those bright eyes and lets him. He even leans towards Even so it’s easier for him to reach and suddenly they’re so close that Even can smell him.

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ , he smells so good. Even is dying to push his nose into his neck and just breathe him in. But he fights the urge and instead keeps the lighter still while Isak takes a deep hit to get it started.

“They… They don’t know?” Even finally asks when the silence has gone on for too long and Isak nods as he blows out the smoke.

“Nobody knows. I mean, _ I _ know,” he says and laughs, making Even laugh back. He really likes that Isak is this chill about it. And then Isak glances at Even through his lashes, and there’s so much being said in that look that Even can hardly breathe. “And obviously  _ you _ know.”  

Even’s mouth turns dry immediately, he swallows hard to get rid of it, can feel the smile fall away on his face. 

Does Isak even realize how much of an effect he has on him?

“Yeah. I know,” he says, and his voice is low and rough, making it very obvious just how much he knows. Just what he’s thinking about this second. And all he can see is Isak’s wide eyes as he’d looked up at him from down on his knees, his puffy, parted lips that looked so kissable. All he can hear is his soft whimpers and heavy sighs, and he remembers vividly how good his warm, wet mouth felt around his dick. And suddenly it’s getting harder to breathe and his pants are getting tighter.

Isak watches him intently, watches him with those bright eyes, and they’re so dark, pupil almost completely dilated and Even hopes that it’s because he’s thinking of the same things as him.

Isak licks his lips and the movement draws Even’s eyes to them. Even licks his own in response. Isak is so close, it would be so easy to lean forward and put his lips on his. Just to taste him. Just to see what he’d do. But just as he’s about to, just as it seems like Isak is starting to lean towards him as well, they hear the sounds of a car driving down the gravel road towards them.

“Fuck!” Isak swears and immediately puts the joint out in the makeshift ashtray they’ve been using.

Even looks over his shoulder, sees the car pull up behind them and watches as a man opens the door.

“Fuck,” Isak says again, hastily puts the ashtray on the floor of the car and arranges his backpack so it can’t be seen from the window. “Even,” he whispers roughly, sounding close to panic. “It’s my dad’s best friend. He can’t find out, I…”

Even can’t stand seeing him like this, so nervous and  _ scared _ . He mourns the disappearance of the easy Isak who he’s spent the last hour with.

He understands, though.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell him something’s wrong with the car or something like that.”

Isak nods and sits back in his seat, but he doesn’t relax, is still tense and straight as an arrow. He looks so anxious, and Even hates it.

“Hi boys!” the guy says as he reaches Even’s window. He leans in, puts his arm on top of Even’s car and his eyes are searching the car like he’s expecting to find something wrong.

Even just hopes to god that he doesn’t recognize the smell of weed, hopes that the open windows have been enough to make sure that the car doesn’t reek from it.

“Hi Svend,” Isak says in a steady voice, and once again Even is amazed by how fast and well Isak is able to transform. He’s clearly been doing this for a while.

“What’s going on?” Svend asks and looks between them.

Even is determined to show him that nothing is wrong, show Isak that he can be just as cool about this as Isak suddenly seems.

“The car was making this weird sound, so we pulled over to check it. But we haven’t been able to find anything wrong,” Even says and smiles innocently at the guy.

He smiles back, doesn’t quite look convinced so Even continues. “Do you happen to know anything about cars? I was just asking Isak if he could google it? Because, honestly, I don’t know the first thing.”

The man lights up, probably happy that he can show off his knowledge a bit. He knocks on the roof of the car twice and straightens as he says, “Sure, pop the trunk, I’ll take a look at it.”

A few seconds later Svend is humming as he’s looking at the dirty engine of Even’s car. Hidden from his sight by the hood, Even looks at Isak with wide eyes, notices how he’s still cool as a cucumber, pays special notice to how he’s not looking back at him. Then Even gets out of the car to join Svend.

“Can you see what’s wrong?” he asks as he stands next to Svend, looks down at the engine with him.

Honestly, it doesn’t really look like Svend knows what he’s doing either, he prods at a few of the engine parts, wipes over one of the really dirty tubes with his thumb and tries to hide the fact that he doesn’t really look like he enjoys getting dirty as he does.

He wiggles a bolt and then says, “Try it now, I think that might do the trick.”

Even has a hard time keeping in his laughter. This is so ridiculous, Svend hasn’t really done anything. But he fights it, just has to make sure they get through this. He gets back in the car and turns the key and the car sounds like a dream as it starts.

“Wow, thank you so much!” Even says leaning out of the window as Svend closes the hood and looks at them, really proud.

“No problem, glad I could help” he says and walks back to Even’s window. He leans down and smiles at them. “But you boys better get moving now. I’m sure Terje is getting worried about you, Isak.”

And he’s still smiling, still sounds happy and calm, but at the same time there’s something about the way he says those words that make the small hairs on Even’s neck stand up, makes him want to glance back at Isak, just to see if he noticed too. But he can’t give them away, not now, not when they’re this close to getting away with it.

“We will, absolutely. Thank you again, Svend!” he says, like he didn’t notice, like he didn’t hear.

It makes Svend look at him and he does that double knock on the roof of the car again as he turns to leave. “Bye, boys.”

He gets into his car and Even watches him drive away in the rear-view mirror and he doesn’t breathe until Svend has disappeared back onto the road.

He finally looks at Isak, but Isak still isn’t looking back at him. Sits there next to him frozen to the spot, with that fucking mask on that Even already hates.

Even sighs as he puts the car in reverse and starts driving back down the gravel road.

They don’t say a word to each other the entire way back. Even doesn’t even try. He gets why Isak is acting like this, he  _ does _ , but at the same time, he wishes Isak would relax. He’s saved his ass three times now, surely Isak must realize that Even isn’t going to out him.

But he lets the silence fill the car, lets Isak sit there, so close,yet so far away. And even though all he wants to do is reach over and put his hand on Isak’s, just to comfort him, he doesn’t.

He pulls up to the curb and Isak gets out and that’s that. He doesn’t even look back at Even once before he disappears inside.

Even stays there looking at the house for a few seconds longer than he should. Thinks about how differently this drop-off could have been if Svend hadn’t noticed them.But then he shakes it off and turns on the engine, drives off. He has to do this at Isak’s pace.

What else can he do?

\--||--

And then, it’s like nothing’s ever happened between them. Like whatever connection they ever had was just in Even’s imagination. 

He almost starts thinking it might have been. 

They still drive to school together, and back home every afternoon. Isak dutifully transfers gas money to Even every Friday afternoon, despite Even’s protests. But after that Friday… they don’t really talk. 

Isak’s put up a wall. 

He stares out the window, or at his phone, or spends the trip doing last minute homework. 

And sometimes, he looks at Even. At his hand, shifting gears. At the back of his head when he checks the blind spot, turning back half a second too late, just late enough for Even to catch him in the act. 

Even doesn’t know what to do with that. He just can’t get a grip on him. 

Some mornings, it’s like Isak forgets that he’s hiding behind a mask. Even will turn on the radio, and there’ll be a song on that makes Isak bop his head to the rhythm, in spite of himself. Or there’ll be something on the news, an inane comment by a morning show host or a visiting celebrity that makes him scoff, or snort, or even laugh. 

It’s always followed by him clamming up again. By his face shuttering, wiped blank like a dry erase board. Like he doesn’t want to show Even those sides of himself. 

And Even can’t understand why. 

He had thought that they were really getting somewhere. Connecting, as cliché as that sounds. That they had… something. It certainly felt that way to Even. 

Maybe he  _ was  _ just imagining it. 

But Even can’t shake his feelings, is still so curious about Isak. So he watches him. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should just accept that Isak doesn’t seem to want to know him. Doesn’t want Even to know more than he already does. Accept that they’ll just be acquaintances, forced together by meddling parents, and an unlikely, unfortunate chance encounter. 

But he can’t help himself. 

He watches Isak shove his friends in the school yard, clap them on the back and laugh at their jokes. Watches his entire face light up. He watches him at church, watches him smile at little old ladies as he helps them get the communion chalice down from the highest shelf, his frown of concentration as the old men tell him convoluted stories of their youth, their late wives, their past careers. Watches him throw little boys over his shoulder and carry them into the Sunday school room, when their parents need a break. 

And he just doesn’t get it. 

How can this Isak – and this Isak, and that Isak, and this one – all be the same person? Where do they even connect?  _ How  _ do they even connect to the guy he met on that dark dance floor, in that stark club bathroom? 

How can they all be Isak? How can he say that he hates it here, and still act so convincingly? Claim that he wants to be himself, be  _ real,  _ and not see how good they could be together, how happy Even could make him? 

Even wants to shake him until the truth falls out of him, until he sees the genuine Isak. Is he the one who used to be in the car with him? Or is it this one, the one he sees in the church with that stilted smile?  

He just doesn’t know anymore. And it’s making him lose sleep. 

He goes to bed thinking about Isak. Lies awake, listening to the silence outside his window. Twists and turns. Flips his pillow over to the cool side, and then again, when neither side is cool anymore. He tries sticking a foot outside the duvet, an arm, tries cocooning himself in it, wrapping it around him so that only his nose sticks out. He lies there, only lets himself look at his clock once in a while so he doesn’t stress too much about how time passes with him awake when he shouldn’t be. He knows how important it is, that he get his sleep. That he keeps his routine. He’s tried, he’s really tried. Over the last few months, it’s the one thing he’s really prioritised. 

And now this thing with Isak is threatening to just ruin it all. 

He has to know. Even if the answer is no, even if Isak tells him that he never wants to talk to him again, never wants to be with him again. Or if he confirms his worst fear, the thing that really keeps him awake at night: that his mind is just playing tricks on him again. 

Even needs to know. 

\--||--

It takes him a few weeks to work up the courage to ask. 

They’re heading quickly into winter now. The roads have been slippery with fallen leaves for a few weeks already, and Even’s come out to find his windshield covered in a layer of frost several mornings in a row. 

When they drive home on Friday afternoon, it’s already getting dark out. 

Isak stares through the window, at the black pine forest washing by outside. Out of the corner of his eye, Even can see his reflection in the window, his face glowing under the streetlights. 

He knows this road by now. Knows the sudden crossing that comes out of nowhere. Knows behind which bend the exit to the village is.

Knows, even before he sees it, that they’ll soon pass the first sign indicating the turn. 

Even knows that if he’s going to ask Isak, he has to do it in the car. He can’t do it at church, where anyone might hear them. Can’t do it at school, since they never really talk there, anyway. They’re only ever really alone here. 

Even wishes he could do this over text, he’s always been a coward like that. But he knows that the reason Isak doesn’t text much, or even really uses social media much is due to the fact that his parents routinely check his phone. Isak had said it matter-of-factly, like he didn’t really care about it, but Even could see. Could see the strain on his face as he said it. 

The minutes go by as he’s thinking all this, and they’re quickly getting closer and closer to the town. If he’s going to ask, he doesn’t have much time. It has to be now. 

His throat is dry, like he hasn’t used it all day and he tries to swallow the dryness away. He clears his throat, his vocal cords weak, like he’s forgotten how they work. 

He swallows again. Tries to will himself to produce sounds. 

To say what he needs to say. 

When he does manage to speak, it comes out so quiet that at first, he doesn’t know if Isak even heard him. 

“Are you ignoring me?” And then, because of course he is, that’s the entire problem: “Why are you ignoring me?” 

Isak stares into the forest rushing by outside the window, and Even is pretty sure he didn’t hear him. The air in the car stands still. The silence feels heavy on his shoulders. 

Then out of the corner of his eye, he sees Isak drag his tongue, slowly, across his lower lip. Sees his pull at it, at a piece of dry skin, with his teeth. He still doesn’t say anything. But at least Even is pretty sure that he heard. 

It’s the only thing that makes him bold enough to try again. 

“I just don’t understand. What happened.”  _ Between us, _ he wants to add, but this is where  his courage ends. 

Finally, Isak turns. Not entirely. Not enough that he’s looking at Even. He just stares straight ahead, at the road disappearing underneath them. Inhales, and exhales, slowly, emptying out the entire contents of his lungs.

Licks his lips, again.

Even just wants to keep looking, can barely stand that he has to look at the road to be able to drive. He wants to see what his face is doing, wants to believe that he could see the real Isak under there. Even’s hands ache from gripping the steering wheel. His leg shakes as it hovers above the clutch. 

And finally, Isak speaks. 

“It’s complicated,” he says and he sounds so tired. World weary, like Even’s never heard someone their age sound before. Like he’s already lived a dozen lives and he doesn’t have the energy for a thirteenth. 

It makes Even hold his breath, keeps him staring at the road while he tries not to react. Tries to give Isak space to answer.

Isak sighs again, and drags a hand through his hair. 

“My parents –” he says, before stopping, and, with a little shake of his head like he wants to shake an etch-a-sketch clean, starting over. “The problem,” he says, “is that I  _ can’t  _ ignore you. Even, you’re fucking impossible to ignore. I see you everywhere, you know. I see you in the cafeteria. When I’m in class, I look out the window, and there you are, just  _ sauntering  _ over the school yard. When we’re in church I feel like I can see you even when you’re sitting behind me. And that’s what makes it so fucking complicated.” 

He sounds out of breath, words picking up speed throughout the admission. Out of the corner of his eye, Even can see Isak tearing at the skin on the side of his thumb, digging his fingernail into the soft flesh, until he finally puts it between his teeth and drags the loose skin of. 

“It’s just… it’s just never been a question, you know? That I was going to find some girl, some nice Christian girl, at camp or bible school, or… or whatever, and get married at, like 22. Have kids, and a nice family, and everything.” He laughs a little at that, like it sounds too absurd to even take seriously, but it’s all too clear that he doesn’t think it’s funny. “And stay a virgin until our wedding night, of course.” 

Even can’t help but snort at that. 

Finally, Isak turns to look at him. 

“What about your parents? Are they like that too?” 

For a moment, Even wishes that he could say yes. Wishes that this was something they could share, that it could be like Romeo and Juliet – them against their parents. 

But that would be a lie. 

“Not really,” he says, softly. “They’ve always told me that the important thing is love, and that love can never be wrong.” 

“Oh.” Isak’s voice is small, and Even can only guess, but what he guesses is that Isak wished for the same thing. 

They sit in silence. The forest rushing past them is silent. The road beneath them is silent. 

“I love my parents,” Isak says, at last, and the resignation with which he says it is a hammer that smashes Even’s heart into a million shards. “It’s just that… I don’t even think they’ve considered that I could be… not straight? It just doesn’t exist to them.” He licks his lips, again, and stares straight ahead, and his voice is even lower when he says, “And you don’t want that.” 

Even lets up on the gas, slows down, shifts gears. Turns onto the smaller road, leading into the village. And as they pass the elementary school, the pizza place, the gas station, only minutes left before they’re going to seperate and Even  _ knows  _ that he’ll never get this chance again. So there’s only one thing he can think to say. 

“I do, though.” He keeps a hand on the stick, a fake casualness meant to fool mainly himself. “I want to be with you. And if that means that it has to be in secret… I can do that.” He slows at the stop sign at the crossing that they have to pass straight through, even though he knows that there are never anyone else there, and chances a glance at Isak. “Because I can’t ignore you either.” 

He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, how soft and sincere he sounds. But he’s never meant anything more, has never wanted anything as much as this. He needs Isak to hear it, needs him to understand.

The street light bathes half of Isak’s face in yellow light,makes his eyelashes cast eerie shadows over his cheeks. He’s still the most beautiful thing Even has ever seen.

Isak looks at Even, eyes dark in the low light. 

And then he slowly lifts his left hand, and places it on top of Even’s on the gearstick. 

“Turn left here instead.” 

Even does as he says. 

Isak’s hand is steady on his, but Even can feel that his palm is cool and sticky with sweat. He follows Isak’s directions into a tiny parking lot, just at the edge of the forest. There are no street lights here, no houses whose warm kitchen lamps stretch into the outside darkness. 

He pulls into the innermost corner of the lot. Pulls the parking brake. 

Isak reaches over, and turns the ignition off.

And everything is dark, and silent. 

Even doesn’t move, hardly breathes. Feels the moment weigh on him, knows that this is significant. So he waits. Isak’s hand is heavy on his. His thumb traces along Even’s little finger, along the side of his hand. 

It’s dark enough now that Even can only see the outline of him against the window. 

But it’s enough to see that he looks up. That he tries to find Even’s eyes in the darkness. Enough to see, feel, hear as Isak lifts his other hand, and runs his fingers through Even’s hair, over his ear, down his neck. As he leans in, in slow motion. 

And then Isak’s lips are on his own, slow, soft. He catches Even’s bottom lip between his own. 

Isak’s forehead against his. Isak’s breath against his mouth as he says, “Okay. We can try that.” 

When Even kisses him back it’s with more smile than kiss, and he can feel Isak smile back against his mouth, feels his grin against his lips. Feels his hand against his neck, how he pulls him in and tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

It’s as amazing as Even remembered it. But now there are all these tiny details that Even didn’t notice before. Like how Isak’s long eyelashes flutter against his cheek, how he deepens the kiss, tastes Even’s mouth with his tongue, nips at his bottom lip. 

It’s a little awkward, the angle, sitting next to each other in the front seat of the car, and it takes Even several minutes to think clearly enough to unbuckle his seatbelt. As soon as he does he angles his jaw to fit Isak’s better, and he finally, finally gets to kiss Isak again, like he’s dreamed about, gets to card his fingers through his hair, gets to trace the line of his jaw, and it’s so much like how he’s been picturing it that he almost can’t believe it. Can’t believe that this is happening, that they’re actually, finally  _ here.  _

Their kisses grow deeper, their hands bolder, moving from hair to shoulder to waists. To Isak’s thumb against the lining of Even’s jeans, Even’s hand high on Isak’s thigh, moving higher and higher by the second. Isak moans into the kiss and the sound vibrates against Even, through him. 

A slap on the driver’s side window makes them startle apart in shock. 

At first, Even doesn’t really register what’s happening. He’s too caught up in Isak, in the kiss, in Isak’s hands and lips, to really notice anything else. The only thing that registers is Isak and the fact that Isak is no longer kissing him. When he opens his eyes he finds Isak pressed back towards the passenger side door, staring at something behind Even, panic written all over his face, in his wide eyes and open mouth, already swollen from their kisses. 

There’s another slap on the window and Even turns around.

On the other side of the window, bent down, peering in, is Isak’s dad. The look on his face mirrors Isak’s. Shock. Confusion. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Even can feel his brain rev up. Hears the alarm bells ringing. No. Isak’s parents can’t know. He promised Isak that this would be a secret. That they would be a secret. 

Terje slaps the window again, and through it Even sees him mouth Isak’s name. Sees his hand reach down to the door handle, hears the vacuum release as he pulls the door open. The car fills with cool winter air that feels almost painful against his warm face and bare hands. 

“Isak?” Terje’s voice is shaky. Uncertain. Worlds from the cheerful, confident man Even is used to. “Isak, what’s going on?” 

Isak’s eyes find Even’s, round, panicked. His hair is a mess, standing in all directions.

He looks much younger like this. 

And Even needs to fix this. For Isak. Because he convinced Isak to take a risk that they shouldn’t have, that he should have known better than to take. 

“Isak?” Terje asks again, and it’s slightly more insistent, this time. Isak licks his lips, quickly, nervously. 

“It was me.” Even hears himself speak before he even knows that he means to. He’s still looking at Isak as he does, but he forces himself to turn his head and look at Terje as he continues. “I kissed Isak.” 

For the first time since he pulled the door open, Terje meets his eyes. He frowns in confusion.

“I kissed him,” Even insists. “Isak... Isak tried to push me away.” Behind him, he hears Isak swallow, thickly, like he’s trying not to cry. It pains Even not to be able to look back at him, to not know what Isak’s face is doing, how he’s reacting to this, but he can’t. 

Terje looks at him, for a moment. Even holds his gaze. Holds it, until he sees realisation dawn on his face, smoothing out his frown. Until he sees him remember. Remember that conversation in his office, when they first moved here. His parents roundabout explanations of what had happened. Why they had had to move. Remember words like  _ breakdown _ and  _ needing a fresh start.  _ Remember his mother taking his hand as she recounted, again, what had happened between him and Mikael. 

Like that was the axis of it, that everything revolved around, and not just one single piece of a thousand piece puzzle. 

Even watches as Terje puts the pieces together, to make something that, with a bit of imagination, could be the image on the box. 

“I couldn’t control myself.” And he knows those are the magic words, knows that this is what they expect from someone like him. It’s almost true, anyway. Not for the reasons Terje thinks, but still. 

He sees Terje swallow. Sees him square his jaw, in a mirror image of Isak. His voice is steady when he speaks again. 

“Isak. Get out of the car.” 

Even turns back to Isak, but Isak doesn’t look at him. Just pulls his backpack from the floor, opens the door and crawls out. Doesn’t look at him as he walks around the hood of the car. Doesn’t look at him as his dad puts a hand on his shoulder, pushes Isak in front of him as they walk away, away from the parking lot, away from Even. 

And even though Even didn’t expect him to, it still hurts.

Even’s door is still open. The air is cold. It fills the car, the vacuum left by Isak in the passenger seat. Even lets himself stare at it for a couple of long seconds. Allows himself to feel the tingle still left on his lips, the way his body still buzzes with Isak’s touch. But only for a few seconds, because he really doesn’t want to let himself start to feel the pain as well.

Instead he grabs hold of the door and pulls it shut. Turns the ignition. The headlights illuminate everything around him. The woods. The empty street. He stares out into the boundary of where the light meets the darkness for a few long seconds before he puts the car in reverse and starts to drive.

When he pulls into the driveway, he isn’t sure how he made it home. 

\--||--

Everything changes after this.

Even goes from seeing Isak every day, talking to Isak every day, to nothing.

He barely manages to see Isak at school and every time he does, every time he happens to catch Isak’s eye, Isak immediately looks away. Guilty, tense, regretful. Every time Even feels like he can’t breathe, feels like his lungs are too small for his body. Every time feels like his heart is breaking all over again.

He’s never felt anything quite like this. This constant misery. He keeps seeing Isak’s face when his dad caught them. Keeps getting that inkling of hope that maybe Isak wants this just as much as him. That maybe he’s just afraid.

But then he sees him at school, sees him at church, sees him work so hard at pretending that Even is invisible. That they’ve never spent time together.

And that’s what hurts the most. The fact that Isak doesn’t see him anymore.

He liked being seen by Isak.  

He misses him, desperately. Although it hurts he can’t look away even for a second when he sees Isak anywhere, he finds himself staring, finds himself trying to see if he can remember just how it felt to have those eyes on him, to have his attention. How it felt to have that smile directed at him.

He remembers, but time passes without anything changing. And as it does it gets easier to convince himself that it was never real. That Isak never wanted him as much as he wanted him. That Isak doesn’t think he’s worth the risk.

And he knows that he’s not, knows that he has so little to offer someone like Isak. Beautiful, clever Isak, who will get to know just how freeing life can be like once he escapes this hell-hole.

He does the only thing he can do, and just keeps going. Gets up every morning, eats breakfast with his dad while his mom runs around trying to do her make-up and remember where her keys are. Goes to school and tries to get decent grades so he can get away when the school year is over.

He just wants to leave this place, wants to leave this heartache and his parents’ shattered dreams behind.

The mood in his house is… weird, for lack of better word. His parents try to pretend they’re not mad or disappointed with him, when they so clearly are. Try to pretend they’re not afraid that he’s slipping again. So he tries to pretend to be the good son, do what they want from him, even go to that horrible church once a week where everybody looks at him like he’s a rapist, a dangerous lunatic.

Isak’s dad’s sermons have changed. Now, they’re all about  how much he loves his congregation, how he doesn’t want any of them going to hell for their sins. That everybody needs to confess their sins and repent. Choose the narrow path over the easy, straight road.

Make sacrifices.

He looks straight at Even as he tells them that there are some sins that even God, in all his grace, may not forgive. That God doesn’t have mercy for those who willingly disobey Him. That He will sit on His throne and separate the sheep from the goats, and those who are not righteous will be turned away, into eternal punishment. And Even sits there, takes it, takes it all, straight back and straight face. Looks right back into that man’s eyes as if to tell him that he’s not afraid. He’s not ashamed of  _ that _ .

It just kills him how his parents cower at the words. How small they get during those rants. He hates it. Hates that this man can have this effect on them.

He doesn’t dare look at Isak while his dad is scrutinizing him like that. He doesn’t want to give Terje that satisfaction.

It doesn’t matter that he thinks it’s all in his head, that Isak never really wanted him. He still feels fiercely protective of him, doesn’t want to make it worse for Isak. Just in case that he’s having a hard time too.

It’s only a few months before he can get out of this fucking town, that’s not that long. He can keep up this charade until then, he’s done it before.

Although it hurts like hell, he’ll survive.

\--||--

He’s sitting on his bed with his laptop, looking at different universities and what he can study where. The deadline for applications is coming up and he’s almost become obsessive looking into it. He’s not quite sure what he wants to study yet, what he wants to become. But he’s reading and learning and he hopes the answer will present itself eventually.

A sudden knock on his door pulls him out of his bubble of concentration and he looks up to find his mom there.

“Can I come in?” she asks and he closes the laptop, puts it to the side as he nods.

She sits down next to him on the bed, tentatively, not quite as home in his room as she used to be. But when she looks at him she doesn’t seem any different.

“How are you doing?” she starts and he takes a deep breath and shrugs. “Your dad and I… We’re worried.”

And there it is.  He just barely manages to not roll his eyes at her, feels the anger bubbling under his skin.

“Are you worried about me? Or about how everyone are looking at you differently?”

She visibly recoils, eyes wide and lips parted, and he’s surprised by how it seems like she didn’t expect this kind of reaction out of him.

“You. It’s always you.” She looks so sincere as she says it, almost whispering and Even just deflates. All the anger seeps out of him and all that’s left is just regret. He doesn’t quite manage to say sorry though. That was always hard for him.

“I’m fine, mom. Nothing time won’t fix.”

She nods and looks around his room, gaze lingering at the empty walls and boxes still left in the corner. It’s no secret that he doesn’t feel at home here. He can’t imagine he ever will. He’s here because of them, not because of him.

“Okay,” she says on a rough exhale and looks at him. Her eyes bore into his, like she’s trying to see whether he’s telling the truth. But then she takes a deep breath and he knows that she can’t hold back the questions anymore. Her voice is thin as she asks, like she’s afraid of what the answer will be. “Is it true?”

She hasn’t asked until now. His dad hasn’t asked. They’ve been living around this big elephant in the room, ignoring it, and Even had almost started to think that they would never talk about it. Maybe he even thought that his parents believed Isak’s dad. And he just couldn’t bear to hear them say that out loud.

He swallows hard at the sudden dryness in his mouth. “What do you think?”

He can’t take his eyes off her, knows that this is it. This is the most important question he’s ever asked her. There’s so much riding on her answer, so much at stake that he’s almost scared of hearing what she has to say.

She keeps her eyes on him, looks right back, and her eyes are soft and tender and he can feel how the tension in his body slowly dissolves, how the tightness of his lungs slowly disappears.

“I don’t think it is,” she says and she sounds so sure. Even wants to cry with relief. “Neither does your dad.” She takes his hand and he wraps his fingers around her’s, leans into her as she keeps talking. “You would never do anything like that. Doesn’t matter how sick you are or if you’re gay or not. You would never do that.”

And now he actually does cry, a tear slips down his cheek and he wants to sob, but he keeps it in. He’s just so relieved.

“But you never talked to us, Even. Never told us what happened. We’ve only heard his side and I just want to hear it from you.”

Even lets another tear fall before he wipes it away. He looks at her for a few long seconds, trying to figure out just how much to tell her. He can’t tell her everything, he just can’t. It’s not his secret to share, and Isak has made it perfectly clear that he’s not ready for people to know.

He leans into his mom, puts his face against her shoulder like he used to do when he was a child, back when he didn’t have to fold his body awkwardly to be able to reach and then he whispers, “I didn’t force myself on him.”

He doesn’t say anymore than that, but apparently that’s enough. She puts her arms around him and holds him tight, whispers “Okay.” Like that’s enough explanation, like she doesn’t need any more than that to believe him.

It’s easy to forget, but sometimes he’s so goddamn grateful for his parents. How they trust him. How they believe in him.

“I’m leaving,” he says against her shoulder after the silence has become too loud again. “I’m applying for universities away from here and as soon as I can I’m leaving.”

He’s not sure why he’s suddenly being this honest with her, but it feels good. Especially when she tightens her grip on him even more and puts her cheek on his hair.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And sometimes, it really is as easy as that.

\--||--

By the end of the month Even has his application filled out. He’s applying for three universities around the country and at the very last minute, just before he presses “send”, he adds the University of Oslo.

It’s a spur of the moment decision, and he regrets it the second his application is sent. He closes the lid to his computer slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He can’t believe what he just did.

He had planned to stay as far away from that city as possible. Wanted to give Isak the chance to make that city his own, to experience the freedom of living in a big city where there’s no risk of him running into someone he knows. Who he has history with.

He puts the computer down on the bed, carefully, like it could suddenly explode. He has to force himself away from his bed, into the kitchen where his mom is cooking, and she coaxes him into helping her cut up some onions.

As the tears run down his face he reconciles himself with it. It’s not like he needs to go to Oslo just because he applied there, he doesn’t have to pick that university just because he gets in.

He picks up one more onion than strictly needed from the bag and starts to cut that up as well. Hopes that the sting will kill the inkling of hope he feels grow inside of him. He doesn’t want it. But it’s impossible to fight.

\--||--

That next Sunday Even’s parents sit a little closer to him, backs a little straighter, eyes looking back at Isak’s dad in spite.

Even lets himself look at Isak as the band plays, lets himself get a little bit lost in how his long fingers slides over the bass as he plays. He looks like he really enjoys playing, has a small smile on his face, shoulders a little bit less tense than what they normally are. Even tries not to notice those shoulders, tries to keep his thoughts pure, but Isak is making it pretty hard.

He’s not doing or wearing anything spectacular, just standing there on stage, playing in a loose-fitting button-down with some jeans, but Even can’t take his eyes away from him. It’s been so long since he let himself look, it seems like it’s almost impossible not to.

It’s not until the music stops and Isak’s dad clears his voice into the microphone, eyes dead set on Even, that Even averts his eyes from him.

He still has to protect Isak. That’s the least he can do.

After, when it’s over and they walk out of there in silence, barely acknowledged by the rest of the congregation, Even just says it. “I’m not going to come back here.”

He doesn’t look at his parents as he says it, knows that it doesn’t matter what they say or do, he’s not subjecting himself or Isak to that again.

His mom takes his arm, squeezes it gently and that’s enough. She doesn’t need to say or do more than that.

As they get into the car he looks back at the church, just one last time, and he’s surprised when he catches Isak’s eyes. They look at each other, and it feels like a goodbye even though they’re too far apart for Even to get a sense of how Isak’s looking at him.

It’s him who looks away first. He turns around and closes the car door behind him, puts on his seatbelt. And doesn’t look back when they drive off.

He can’t keep living like this, can’t keep hurting. He needs things to change, and although he can’t stand the idea of not seeing Isak, maybe this is for the best.

Maybe this is what it takes to move on.  

\--||--

They’re almost coming into summer, now, the evenings steadily growing longer, brighter. They've had a long stretch of sunny days, the kind that finally make you believe that maybe, just maybe, there'll be a summer this year, too. But tonight, as Even settles in on top of his bed with his laptop on his chest, it’s to the accompaniment of the smattering of rain against his window. 

His parents are away for the night. 

They haven’t been out since everything that happened between him and Isak. First, because they didn't trust him enough, and then, because they didn't trust everyone else. 

But they’re out tonight. He finally managed to convince them that he’d be fine. That they could go into town, get dinner, watch a movie, and the house would still be standing when they returned. He’d still be in it, safe and sound, just as they left him. 

He’ll be fine. 

It’s not like he has any plans, or even anyone to make plans with. He’s just going to watch a movie in his room anyway. They could still be in the house, and he wouldn't even notice. Just like any other night, any other Friday. 

\--||--

He’s scrolling through his Netflix queue when something taps on his window. Something that's not the rain. At first, he’s sure that he must have imagined it.

Then he hears it again.

It must have been a branch, he thinks, smacking against the window when the tree outside shakes in the wind. But the tree is too far away for that. 

The third time he hears it, he gets up to check. 

He opens the door to the french balcony, and leans towards the railing. The air is chilly, crisp. Within seconds, his arms are covered with raindrops. 

The street light is creating a pool of light on the sidewalk, but other than that, it's pitch black, the darkness made even darker by the overbearing clouds. 

It’s only when he steps out from underneath the great tree and his phone lights up that he sees him.

Isak. 

He lifts his hand in a little wave, and Even is so shocked that all he can think to do is to return it. Then Isak looks down on his phone again. Seconds later, Even feels his own phone buzz in the pocket of his sweats. 

_ Are you alone? Can I come up?  _

It’s the first message from Isak in months. 

Even types an answer as quickly as he can, for once in his life thankful for the autocomplete function. 

_ Yes! I’ll come down and unlock the door.  _

_ No that’s fine, I’ll come up.  _

He doesn’t understand what Isak means. When he looks down on him again, he sees him cock his head to the side, shrug his shoulder a little. Then, he watches as Isak goes up to the porch, scrambles to the side of it, and pulls himself up to the roof over the entrance. 

The roof which, luckily, stops right under Even’s french balcony. 

He takes a step back as Isak grabs it and swings a leg over the railing. 

When he straightens, he’s wearing the cheekiest grin Even’s ever seen. 

“That was kind of romantic, wasn’t it?” 

And Even can’t help himself. He grabs the collar of Isak’s jacket, and pulls him in. Kisses him like he’s been lost in the desert for forty years with nothing but manna, and he is his favorite meal. 

Isak’s jacket is soaked with rain, face cold against Even's. When he puts a hand around Even's neck and pulls him closer, shivers go down Even's spine. 

Isak grabs at him like he’s looking for an anchor, fisting the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. Kisses him back with the same desperation, the same hunger. 

“You should have had a boombox,” Even mumbles against his lips, and feels Isak grin in return. 

“Next time,” he promises, and just the idea of next time, of  _ more  _ times, makes sparks fly over Even’s skin, makes blood rush through his veins. 

He can’t believe Isak is really here. In his room, in his arms. His jacket leaving wet spots all over Even’s grey hoodie, his cold fingers tangling in Even’s hair. His cold nose warming against Even’s. 

He’s so close, but it’s still not close enough. Even needs more, needs to feel him, to make sure that he’s real. There’s already too much distance between them so he leans in and catches Isak’s lips and the kiss is frantic from the start.

He manages to turn them around, maneuver them towards the bed. He tries to unzip Isak’s jacket blindly, tries to find room between them to tug it off him without breaking their kiss, but in the end, he has to let Isak go just for a second, to let him shrug out of his jacket, kick off his shoes. He takes the opportunity to move the laptop from the bed, as well, and put it carelessly on his night stand. When he stands up again, it’s Isak who grabs at him, pulling them both down onto the bed. 

It’s hurried and sloppy. Isak hovers over Even, his hands moving desperately, quickly over Even’s body, like he has to touch every last part of him before he has to leave again. He runs his hands through his hair, over his back, sides, ass. Over his stomach under his hoodie. Traces along the lining of his sweatpants. His kisses are rough and frantic, teeth and tongue and hunger.

Like they both know that they don’t have much time. That, despite Isak’s promise of a next time, this might be the only time they have.. 

Even feels it too. Feels how the desperation clings to him, to them like a cloak. Grips Isak’s hair, his neck, and tries not the think about the fact that this might be all they get. Tries to think about right now, this, instead. The feeling of Isak’s hair between his fingers, wet with rain. His tongue exploring his mouth. His hands. How good he smells, of rain and want and  _ himself _ . 

How he finally, finally gets to feel Isak’s body against his again. Feel the clench of his bicep as he balances on an elbow. Feel the weight of his thigh between his legs, against his dick. Feel how hard Isak is as he grinds down against Even’s hip.

Even’s blood rushes through his veins, his heart thunders in his chest. After months of longing, of mourning, of thinking he would never speak to Isak again, never touch him again, and in a few months time never see him again, he is already hard, his dick throbbing against the friction of Isak’s jeans. 

He lets go of Isak’s hair and sneaks a hand into the space between them, tries to get at the button of Isak’s jeans. Isak angles his hips as he does, pushes against Even’s hand. He can feel the bulge against palm, through his fly. Trace the outline of that glorious dick he’s thought about so much in these last two months, and he can’t wait to feel the weight of it in his hand.  He manages to unbutton Isak’s jeans, pulls down the fly so that he can feel the heat of it through his briefs, feel it pulsating against his hand. 

Isak whines into their kiss when Even runs his thumb over the head of his dick, over the wet patch of precum that is forming on his briefs, and pushes into Even’s hand. It radiates through Even, in hot coils pooling in his gut, and he moans back, grinds against Isak’s thigh again. His own dick is almost painfully hard, insistent, desperate. 

Isak’s hands move into Even’s sweatpants, palms running over his ass, reaching down over the top of his thighs and up again, and then, in a single movement, he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of Even’s briefs and pulls it all down, halfway down over Even’s thighs. 

As soon as it’s freed, Even’s dick springs up against his stomach, pulsing, hot, and he feels the bounce through his entire body. 

Isak shifts, slightly, and with one hand holding his weight on the bed, he pulls down his own jeans and briefs as well. His dick slaps against Even’s thigh, warm and wet, making him moan.

He breaks the kiss, then. Has to see Isak, has to memorise what he looks like this. When his pupils are blown, huge and black in the grey darkness. His lips swollen. 

He looks perfect. Better than he remembered.

There’s a sheen of sweat along his hairline, darkening his drying curls, and Even pushes them back from his forehead. Although the desperation is still crawling under his skin he can’t help how he touches Isak, soft and tender. Gentle. He traces the line of Isak’s temple, his cheekbone, the slope of his eyebrow the the tips of his fingers. Tries to really take him in. 

If this is the only chance he gets. 

Isak whines and impatiently grabs at Even’s hip, pulls at him until they’re both lying on their sides, lining their dicks up. He takes Even’s hand in his, tangling their fingers together and then wraps both their hands around them. 

The pace Isak sets is hurried. Quick and sloppy. There’s not really any finesse to it, no time to think, no time to figure each other out. 

Even breathes into Isak’s mouth, eyes set on Isak’s and he’s never experienced anything like this before. Being this close to someone, having their eyes on his like this, it makes his heart swell, feel too big for his chest and all the progress he’s made in the last few months, trying to forget Isak, flies out the window. Just like that.

How unexpected these turn of events are, the intensity of it, of Isak showing up outside his house, of Isak being  _ here _ , it heightens everything, every sensation, every emotion. Like the nerves in his skin are suddenly twice as responsive. It radiates through him, through his thighs, his chest, and he feel stretched, taut, groin throbbing from the efforts of their hands, and then, he comes, spilling between them, over their hands, the bed. 

Distantly he hears himself moan, everything in him stops, there is nothing but the feel of Isak’s hand still stroking moving his, still stroking him, making it better. Prolonging it. It stretches between them, this moment, how every muscle in his body is tight and he gives himself over to it. Lets himself feel all this pleasure, lets himself take and take. The way Isak sighs against his lips, like he’s overwhelmed as well makes Even convulse once more, makes him push out another robe of cum, adding to the mess between them. 

Isak keeps going until Even releases his grip, until he forces Isak to ease up and Even just tries to breathe, just tries to understand what just happened. Lets all that pleasure wash over his body, fill him up anew. He opens his eyes, looks straight into Isak and his chest pinches with how much he wants this to not be the last time. How much he wants to see the sight of Isak like this, next to him, eyes blown, lips parted, desperate and wanton. Even wants it all, wants it over and over again.

He slips out of the grip, lets go of Isak’s hand, and starts stroking him. He wants him to feel it too, wants him there with him. Isak whines into the small space between them, making Even speed up. After that, it doesn’t take long. 

Isak buries his face against Even’s collarbone as he comes. Pushes him over, onto his back, Isak on his chest. His fast breaths makes goosebumps break out all over his chest, makes him feel even more sensitive, and he keeps stroking him, just want to make it as good for him as possible. Isak makes a mess between them, cum all over Even’s hand and hip and stomach. But it’s good. It’s so good, Even wants to keep it there. Wants to be marked by Isak, wishes he could keep this small part of him. Hidden forever under his clothes, just for him and Isak to know.  

They stay like that, afterwards, neither of them making any effort to move. Even cards his fingers through Isak’s hair, combing out his curls, learning the shape of his scalp underneath them, how it feels against his fingertips. Isak’s arm is on his chest, playing with one of the strings of Even’s hoodie. 

He isn’t sure how long they lie like that, breathing in tandem, before Isak whispers, reluctantly, “I have to go soon.” 

Even nods, his cheek brushing against Isak’s hair. He knows, has known this would happen almost as soon as Isak showed up, but he can’t help the disappointment bubbling up inside him. 

He swallows, tries to find the courage to say something. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, finally. 

Isak props himself up on an elbow. Finds his eyes, his own intense and bright. He brushes Even’s hair off his forehead. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Isak answers, softly, and there’s a fondness in his voice that Even could get drunk on. It makes him smile, makes him raise his head, letting Isak know he needs another kiss, and Isak obliges easily.

“Even…” he starts, against Even’s lips. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve thought about you every day.” He pulls back so he can look Even in the eyes. “I’ve wanted to talk to you every day, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without anyone noticing.  I was just biking home from bible study, and my parents are at the hospital with a church member. And I saw that a light was on, and I hoped that maybe it was your room, and that you were alone.” 

Even nods.

“My parents went into town to see a movie,” he supplies, and the banality of it makes it feel to big, too real for the bubble they’re in. 

“Okay,” Isak answers. He looks away, at Even’s bedroom door, like he’s afraid that they could barge in any second. 

Even wishes he could promise that they won’t. That he could promise Isak that they could stay here forever, in this bubble, in this bedroom, just the two of them. 

But he knows they can’t. 

He knows that, come tomorrow, they’ll have to go back to how it was, being nothing to each other. 

He doesn’t want that. Now that he’s had another taste, he can’t stand the idea of not having Isak like this all the time. And he doesn’t understand how that could’ve ever been an option to him. 

He licks his lips, swallows down the nerves rising in his throat, tries to blink away the thick tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

“So what happens now?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level. 

Against his chest, he feels Isak shrug his shoulders. 

“Nothing, I guess. There’s not much we can do.” 

Isak wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, quickly, efficiently, and Even thinks he hears him sniffling, silently, like he doesn’t want Even to notice. 

Inside his chest, he can feel his heart crumbling, like one of Terje’s dry cookies. This can’t be it. He’s not going to let Isak go that easily.

“Hey, no,” he says, and he can hear the notes of desperation in his own voice. “We’ll... we’ll think of something, we’ll figure it out.”

Isak sighs.

“I don’t know Even,” he says, and he sounds so defeated. “The last time we said that we’d figure it out, my dad caught us.” 

And Isak sounds so despondent, like he’s already given up, but Even can’t let him. Won’t let him. It’s not like he can argue with what Isak just said, but he can’t just abandon this, either. 

Can’t abandon Isak. 

“I applied to go to university in Oslo.” 

Isak lifts his head from his chest, props himself up on his elbow and looks him straight in the eye. His gaze is intense, almost challenging, and Even’s first instinct is to look away from it, to avoid it. But he holds steady. Has to show Isak that he’s serious about this, that he means everything he’s about to promise. 

“What are you saying?” Isak asks. 

“I’m saying,” Even replies, and he can only hope that his voice manages to convey the weight he’s putting into his words. “I’m saying that, if you want me to, I’ll wait for you in Oslo. I’ll get an apartment, and I’ll move there, and I’ll wait for you to join me.” 

The silence vibrates between them as Isak takes in his words. 

“But… that’s a year. I’m not graduating for another year, “Isak starts, slowly, like he has to fight to get the words out. ”And I don’t know if I’ll be able to visit, or call, or maybe even write.” Isak still sounds defeated, but there’s a faint string of hope in his voice. 

Even sits up a bit, for emphasis. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “Isak, listen. I don’t care, I don’t care how long I have to wait, I don’t care if all I’ll hear of you for an entire year is from my  _ parents.  _ I just want to be with you. That’s all I want.” 

Isak’s smile is small, but brilliant. His kiss soft, but filled with hope. 

“Okay. Yes.” He smiles, a little bigger. “Yes. Let’s do that. Wait for me in Oslo.” 

Even has to kiss him again, then, has to feel Isak’s smile against his. His smile that bubbles over into a happy laugh and it’s the best sound Even has ever heard. He swallows it up, kisses Isak over and over again, filled to the brim with happiness himself. 

But it’s over all too quickly. Even doesn’t know how much time passes, but he knows it’s too little as Isak pulls away, sits up on the bed, pulls a hand through his hair. His smile is already gone, his eyes sad and grey. 

“But I really do have to go now. My parents… They can’t know, Even.” He looks at Even as he says it, with the same fear as when they talked about it in the car. 

Even shakes his head. Says the words with a conviction he’s rarely felt. “They won’t know.”

Isak kisses him again, a quick peck, and gets up. He looks down at himself, and even in the low light it’s obvious that his shirt is covered in cum. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and Even can hear the panic rising in his voice. His eyes are wild when he looks at Even. “What do I do?” 

Even thinks quickly. He gets up, and grabs one of his most nondescript t-shirts from his closet. When he hands it over to Isak, he tries to smile. Wants to make this situation a bit easier for Isak, any way he can. 

“Give it back to me when we see each other in Oslo.” 

Isak seems to calm down a little at that. A smile even tugs at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his shirt over his head, and hands it over to Even.

“Ditto.” 

Even watches as Isak takes the same way down from the balcony, over the roof of the entrance, dropping down the side of it. How he grabs his bike from behind the tree. Flips the hood of his jacket up, and disappears into the darkness. 

In his chest, his heart beats with a mess of hope and sorrow. He gathers up his sheets, Isak’s shirt, his own hoodie, and heads down to the washing machine. 

He hates to wash away the evidence of what they just did, but he made a promise.

And he’s going to keep it.


	2. Salvation

It’s early, but the train window is already warm against Isak's cheek. The June sun glitters in the dirt on the glass. The fields and forests rush by. Through the open crack at the top of the window, he can hear the rail sing. 

He can hardly believe it. 

He’s finally on his way. 

Finally. 

It feels like he’s been waiting for this day to arrive since the moment he was born. Like you wait for Christmas when you’re a kid. No – more like when you’re no longer a kid, exactly, but you still think Christmas will have the same magic as you remember it having when you were little. When all of December is spent just walking around, seeing the lights, hearing the carols, and  _ anticipating.  _

Only to be disappointed when Christmas arrives and inevitably doesn’t live up to your memories. To everyone’s expectations. 

The rail sings, groans and whines. The glass moves under his cheek with the movements of the train.

He’s been waiting all his life, but never as much as this year. He’s been counting down, ever since that night when they decided. 

When Even promised that he’d wait for him. 

And now he’s on his way. Had said goodbye to his parents at the train station, a mess of relief and happiness and terror, so excited about the change. Afraid of the change. 

Terrified. 

His stomach is in knots, and with every kilometer, with every station the train passes, they get bigger and bigger, tighter and tighter. He almost can’t breathe.

It’s been the longest year he’s ever had to live through. Crossing off each day, living on a count-down. And now that he’s survived it, he doesn’t actually know how he did it. How he managed to make it out on the other side. 

Not that it’s been that different, objectively speaking, from all the other years in his life. In most ways, nothing had changed. 

And in other ways,  _ everything  _ had changed. 

He’d always thought that his life would start when he moved away from home. Moved to Oslo. That it would be like passing from one world to the next – from dull grey to bright colors, from deadly boredom to life. 

But now, it almost feels like his life has started without him. That his life has been with Even, in Oslo, this whole year. 

It’s just him who’s been left behind. Left to trudge around in the grey November, wet March, when he was really supposed to be somewhere else. Be with Even in their apartment that he’s only seen through a screen.

It’s a stupid thought. 

One he hasn’t told Even about. He doesn’t want him to feel bad for leaving. He did it for the both of them, after all. Did it so that when Isak graduated, everything would be ready. Easy. Did it so that Isak wouldn’t have to risk his parents finding out. 

And… they haven’t really had the chance to talk much, this year. With his dad looking over his shoulder, constantly. Checking the numbers on his phone bill. Like he knew something was amiss and wanted some kind of proof for it. 

Isak has been careful not to let that happen.

He isn’t sure what they could do, really, if they found out about Even. After all, he’s been 18 all year. Technically an adult. He could get his own phone, pay his own bill. It’s not like they could really forbid it, or stop it. 

But. 

Despite everything that’s happened, he just doesn’t want to disappoint them. That had been the worst part of it all. After he had kissed Even, that afternoon, in the car. To see his dad’s disappointment. In Isak. In himself. 

He knows that they love him. He’s never doubted that. Knows that they want what’s best for him. That all they want is for him to love, and be loved. 

Just not like this. 

He can’t remember how many times they’ve talked about sin. Ever since he was a little kid. Especially since his mother got worse and started to fixate on it. 

When he was little, he remembers thinking of sin like breaking his parents’ rules. That sinning was like sneaking out of school during lunch and buying sweets, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to. Or cheating at football during recess. 

As he got older, they talked about it a lot more. About how sin is not that, at all. How sin is that which brings us further from God. That which severs our relationship with Him. 

Disappoints Him. 

His dad’s favorite service, every year, was always Good Friday. He could always come up with a new angle, a new way to speak about how much Jesus had sacrificed. How he had died for their sins, so they could live. 

And, if Jesus had sacrificed his  _ life _ , for them, although they were unworthy of it – couldn’t they sacrifice just a little in their own lives, to get closer to him? To become more like him?

Sometimes, during his father’s Good Friday sermons, Isak couldn’t help but be almost convinced that his dad knew. Or that he at least suspected. That it was Isak he was speaking to. 

_ Just sacrifice this. Just this one thing.  _

Isak always liked Easter Sunday better. 

There is hope in Easter Sunday. Transgressiveness. Love. Not just the love that lasts into death and darkness, but love beyond that. 

Love so strong that death itself is powerless against it. 

And every year Isak hears this, feels this, and he knows that there has to be some way. Some way for him to be himself, to be who he is, and still be able to be loved by God.

He’d tried talking to his dad about it, once. He doesn’t remember, now, how they’d gotten into it. They usually avoided the subject like the plague. But once, just once, he tried challenging his dad, tried asking if love wasn’t maybe more important, that maybe it didn’t matter to God who you loved, as long as you loved?

His dad had had an answer to that, of course. 

That of course, he would never throw the first stone (it’s not like he was without sin). 

That of course, he should see the beam in his own eye, as well. 

That of course, gay people were also your neighbors, and of course you should love them. 

But.

It didn’t change the fact that living out your homosexuality was a sin. 

That as a Christian, it was you responsibility to help your brothers and sisters to avoid sinning. Because you wouldn’t want people you love to go to hell, would you.

Suddenly, sin felt like rules again. Like not being allowed to buy sweets, and doing it anyway. Because ultimately, it didn’t stop Isak. It didn’t make him any less gay. It just made him feel shattered and divided. Like he was two things at once, the Isak at home and at church, and the Isak who went out from time to time and hooked up, when the urges became too great. 

They haven’t talked about it, this year, Isak’s dad hasn’t mentioned what happened in that car even once. But then again, they haven’t talked much at all, this year. Isak hasn’t talked much with anyone this year. He’s thankful that he’s been able to blame it on the stress of his last year of school, on his exams, as he’s pulled back from most of the stuff he used to do at church.

He couldn’t be a part of the worship team when it felt like every note he played could be a lie. But when he joined the rest of the congregation in the familiar Easter Sunday exultation, his heart still sang. 

_ He is risen! He is risen indeed!  _

It’s been his home, the church. All his life. He’s grown up there. Has toddled up to his dad in the middle of the sermon. Has run around under the coffee tables with the other little kids, until one of the big boys threw him over a shoulder and got him out of there. Has thrown little kids over his own shoulder more times than he can count, when they needed to run off their energy somewhere else. Has spent countless evenings spent curled up on the lumpy couch in the back room, drinking tea and eating burnt popcorn and having deep discussions. The congregation has been his family. His extra aunts and uncles, his honorary cousins. Especially when his mother wasn’t feeling well. 

And now he’s leaving. Moving out. Into his new home. His new family. His Even. 

_ What if it doesn’t work out? _

The thought has bubbled in him all year, like a swamp, green and thick, threatening to drown anything and anyone who gets too close. 

What if it’s not the same. What if he gets off the train, and it’s stiff and awkward. What if, outside their bubble, when it’s no longer them against the world – what if they don’t actually work that well. What if Even’s realized, now that he’s been in Oslo for a year, met new people, made new friends, that he actually isn’t that interested in a pastor’s son with one foot still stuck in the closet. 

_ What if Even isn’t there when he gets off the train.  _

He hasn’t allowed himself to think it, before. Has pushed the swamp down, covered it with sand and the memories of Even, of his smile, of the feeling of his skin beneath his fingertips, of his kisses. But he can’t ward it off anymore. 

What if he gets off in Oslo, and the platform is empty. 

It doesn’t matter that Even has promised him that he would be there. That he’s still waiting. A year is a long time. A little over a year, even. He’s managed to sneak off and skype with Even from time to time, when his parents were out, sometimes between classes. Has hidden behind fake messenger-accounts that he’s always remembered to log-out from after using. 

But. They haven’t been able to see each other. For real, face to face. Not once. Not since that night, in Even’s bedroom. 

At first, they thought that they might be able to. That maybe Isak would manage to come to Oslo, make up an excuse of wanting to look for a place to live or visit the university. But then his dad decided to come with him, and didn’t leave his side for the entire weekend. 

He hadn’t thought it possible, but that was even more painful. To  _ finally  _ be in the same city as Even, only a few kilometers separating them,  and then not be able to see him. Touch him. Kiss him. 

Then they thought that they’d maybe be able to sneak off, just for a minute, when Even came home to visit his parents. But somehow, that same weekend Isak’s parents had planned for them all to go out of town to visit relatives. 

The last few times they talked, Isak could hear the frustration in Even’s voice. 

He only hopes that it hasn’t become too much. 

The rails sing, breathe, stress. 

Over the intercom, the conductor calls out for next stop Oslo. Final stop. Isak’s stomach surges, as the sound of the rails mixes with more and more traffic, with exhaust fumes, city bustle. As they roll into the station, his chest clenches. 

He gets up from his seat, and starts pulling his backpack down from the rack overhead. Doesn’t dare to look out the window. To look for Even. 

What if he isn’t there. 

He lets the other passengers shuffle past him, out of the car as he tries to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out.

When the car is finally empty, he starts to walk. 

His feet feel stiff, like they weren’t made for moving. The backpack straps cut into his shoulders. His chest too tight for his lungs and his heart.

He takes the steps down from the car. One foot, and then the other, until he’s standing on the platform. It’s almost empty. The rest of the passengers stream away from it, into the station house, towards cars and trams and homes. 

In the middle, a head above the rest, craning his long neck, is Even. Isak can see him chewing on his bottom lip. Running a hand through his hair. Scanning the train, the crowd. 

Looking for him. 

When he notices him, his entire face lights up. His smile is so wide that Isak is almost afraid that his cheeks might split apart. His eyes crinkle, almost disappearing. It’s contagious. Isak’s chest erupts with happiness, with relief.

Even’s steps are a mile long as he moves against the crowd, weaves through it, towards him. 

He stops, just in front of him. Tilts his head a little to the side. Licks his lips. And Isak’s own face feels like it might burst from smiling so much. 

The platform is empty now. In the distance, anonymous, unknown, unimportant people mill about. No one knows them. No one cares. So he takes a step forward. Takes Even’s hand. Pulls him in.

And kisses him.  

It’s like drowning like they’re the only two people in the world. Just Even’s lips moving against his, his hand that tentatively comes to rest on Isak’s hip halfway through the kiss. 

Isak lets himself gets lost in it, allows himself to forget about the people around them. He’s finally free. And the feeling grows inside of him, gets bigger and bigger in his stomach, in his chest. Until it feels like his heart might beat it’s way through it, until there’s just not room enough inside of him for it and he finally starts smiling into the kiss. Ruins it with how happy he is to be here, to be with Even.

But Even seems to understand, because he chuckles against Isak’s lips, is smiling too.

Isak is sure he’s never been happier than he is in this moment. It’s like this is what he’s been waiting for his entire life.  

And when he finally pulls back to be able to look at Even, Even doesn’t let him go far. Tightens the grip on his hip and they’re so close that Isak can just barely make out Even’s face without crossing his eyes. But what he sees there takes his breath away.

Even looks just as happy as he feels, his smile so big and wide, cheeks flushed and his eyes. His eyes. They’ve never been brighter or bluer. He’s saying so much with them, so many things that hasn’t been put into words yet. Yet. Isak knows that they will.

They have time for that to happen now.

“You came,” Even breathes against his lips, voice thin and with a waver that doesn’t at all match the way he’s smiling.

Isak’s eyes widen in surprise. He’s completely unprepared for this display of uncertainty from Even. He’s always seemed so sure of himself,  and Isak always felt like he was the only one with doubts. It settles something in him, makes his nerves calm a bit.

It’s just easier knowing that he’s not the only one who’s been afraid.

It makes him less scared to be vulnerable, to show Even his own insecurities.

“You’re actually here,” he whispers.

Even pulls back, eyes flitting between Isak’s and all of a sudden, he looks so serious.   

”You didn’t think I would be?”

Isak looks down, shame welling up in him at Even’s incredulousness. Like Even couldn’t even imagine not showing up, like the idea never once occurred to him.

“I didn’t know. I’m…” Isak says and risks a brief glance up at Even. The words get stuck in his throat even though there are so many things he wants to say. He wants to be honest, wants to tell Even how he’s still not sure just how much he has to offer and that he would have understood completely if Even had decided that it wasn’t worth it. That he wasn’t worth it.

But Even tilts his head to the side, eyes intense and bright once again, like he  _ understands _ . He leans into Isak, gives him a quick kiss on his lips, and then stays there with his forehead against his, nose to nose.

“I would’ve waited forever, if that was what it took,” Even says in a low voice, sounding so sincere that it steals Isak’s breath away.

And even though there’s so much noise on this platform, trains and people and speakers surrounding them in a cacophony of sounds, it’s still easy for Isak to hear this. Like his ears are already attuned to the sound of Even’s voice.

Isak isn’t sure what his face is doing, how he’s looking at Even, but Even’s gaze turns tender, as his face softens into a smile.

“Let’s go home,” he says and takes Isak’s hand, and Isak has never heard anything better his entire life.

“Yes. Let’s,” he whispers, still almost afraid the moment will disappear, that Even will disappear, if he’s too loud. If he demands too much. 

As Even leads him out of the platform, out of the station and onto the streets, hand steady and safe in his, Isak feels like he can breathe again. It feels new, everything feels new.

He doesn’t let go of Even’s hand. Not even once.

\--||--

Even’s hand feels clammy and almost too warm in Isak’s when they finally reach the front door of their apartment. Maybe Isak has been clinging on too tight, he doesn’t want to let go, just wants to keep feeling Even’s skin against his. Like he’s afraid he’ll disappear in a puff of smoke if he stops touching him. It almost scares him, this desperate need for Even, so big but he never wants to stop.

Thankfully, Even isn’t complaining.

Isak has gotten lost eight times on the way, he has absolutely no idea where they are. Oslo is such a big city compared to where they’re from, so many people, so much bustle, that Isak is sure that he’ll never get used to it.

But having Even there with him makes it easier.  

Isak can’t stop looking, it doesn’t matter how he has to keep a watch of the traffic, of the people, of where he’s going. His eyes just keep getting drawn back to Even. The slope of his neck, the fullness of his lips, the broadness of his shoulders.

His thighs.

His ass.

Now that Isak finally can look, doesn’t have to worry about who’s watching, who’s noticing, it’s like he can’t stop. And he doesn’t want to.

Even catches him looking and the way it lights up his face is  _ everything _ .

Even is fighting the lock, trying to get the key to work with just one hand free, and even though Isak likes how Even looks when he concentrates, how he pouts and frowns, Isak finally, reluctantly, lets go of Even’s hand. He wants to keep touching Even, sure, but he wants to start their new life in their ( _ their!!! _ ) apartment together even more.

Once he has both hands free, Even opens the door easily and puts out his arms as he crosses the threshold, a grand gesture, more dramatic than it needs to be, but it makes Isak smile.

“Home sweet home,” Even says and looks at Isak with that big smile on his face, the one that makes Isak’s skin burn and his fingers itch to touch.

Isak can’t speak, his tongue too big for his mouth with all the emotions running through his body. So instead he just smiles and nods, and he’s feeling incredibly stupid for it until Even takes his hand again and kisses him gently.

And just like that it’s already starting to feel like home for him.

\--||--

Isak doesn’t quite know how long it’s been, how long they’ve been lying like this. He’s so warm and comfortable here, on Even’s chest, in his arms.

They’re on the bed, legs and arms entangled.

And it’s strange. Whenever Isak let himself imagine it, let himself really think about what it would be like to be here with Even, it was never like this. Never quite this soft. He’s surrounded by Even, by his smell in the apartment, by his warmth, by his arms holding him tight. The sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Isak can’t imagine ever wanting anything else than this.

They’ve spend the evening and night talking. Really getting to know each other again. Isak has heard more about Even’s life here, about how it’s been for him this year while he’s been waiting for Isak to join him.

It’s been a painful thought for him, the fact that Even was here, alone, living his life without Isak. That he didn’t get to be a part of it. What if Even discovered that it was easy to be without Isak?

He’s sleepy, can feel his eyes drooping. It’s been a long day of grand things happening. But at the same time, he feels more awake, more alive than he’s ever been before. He doesn’t want to sleep. Doesn’t want to waste another second not talking to Even, not touching him.

“I can't believe you're actually here,” Even says, voice so low it's almost a whisper. 

Isak can hear the relief in his voice, still can't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Even has had the same insecurities as him. 

“I can't believe it either. It feels unreal,” Isak says and tips his head back so he can look at Even. See into his eyes as he talks. “I never thought I would get here. Never thought it was possible to feel like this.”

Even hums and tightens his grip around Isak's shoulders. Puts his lips on Isak's forehead. “I know the feeling.”

Isak steels himself. The words that have been pressing on his mind more and more during the last few hours are getting impossible to hold back now. 

“You understand that it's not going to be easy, right?” 

With Even's mouth still on his forehead it's impossible for Isak to see how Even reacts to that. He's not sure if he's relieved or anxious about it. 

“What do you mean?” Even whispers and his fingers are doing this intricate dance over Isak's back that lets him know that it's okay. That Even is there to listen to him. To whatever he wants or doesn't want to say. 

Isak swallow against the dryness in his throat, suddenly needs Even to understand, needs him to see before it becomes too hard for Isak to tell him. 

“My dad… He'll never accept this, accept us. Not just my dad. My mom, the congregation.” Isak takes a deep breath and tilts his head again and waits for Even to do the same so they can look each other in the eyes. ”If we do this, it will be hard to go back.”

Even smiles at him, a fond, gentle smile, one that makes Isak's heart beat faster and he puts his hand on Isak's cheek, caresses it with his thumb. 

His eyes are intense as he speaks. “We're already doing this, Isak. I don't care about that, or them. I care about you.”

Even's smile is contagious and Isak doesn't care how wide it is as he replies, “Yeah?”

Even's lips find his and Isak loves this so much. How kissing Even doesn't have to be heated and perfect. How it can be just this, just them pressing their smiles against each other. 

“Absolutely,” Even breathes against his lips and the roughness of his voice makes Isak's insides explode, makes his body heat up. Redirects his blood until his pants feels tight and uncomfortable. 

It's enough for him to deepen the kiss, part his lips and let his tongue map out Even's lips until he opens up for him. The feeling of Even's tongue against his, the reassuring taste of him makes Isak moan. 

He wants more, he wants Even. 

He moves closer, body almost settling completely on top of Even’s and he lets his hands wander. Gives into the urge to touch, to feel. To take the time to map out Even's body. Exactly what he's been dreaming about doing for so long now it feels like the desire to do so is drenched into his skin. 

Even's arms are around him, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like they belong there. His hands are getting more and more adventurous, slowly sliding lower and lower and Isak pushes his hips up, trying to show Even that it's alright. That he wants him to touch him there. 

Their breaths are getting heavier between them, their bodies heating up. Isak slides the rest of the way on top of Even, settles there with his thighs on each side of Even's and moans as their dicks finally come into contact through the layers of their clothes. 

Isak is suddenly desperate for more, needs to touch Even. Needs to know how his skin feels against his, needs to know what he looks like naked. 

He wants to give himself over to him completely, show him just how much he already owns him. How much he already means to Isak. 

He rolls his hips against Even's, his desperation reach new heights when Even makes an urgent sound deep in his throat. 

“I want you inside of me,” Isak moans against Even's lips and Even pulls back to look Isak in the eyes. 

He doesn't ask whether Isak is sure, must be able to see it on him, because just he nods  and answers, “There's nothing I want more.” 

Isak reluctantly leaves Even's lips and leans back to take his shirt off. He loves the way Even looks at his body, completely enthralled, how his hands come up and follow the trail his eyes make down Isak's body. Isak concentrates on his breathing, so hard and loud to his own ears. Concentrates on keeping his eyes open so he can watch Even look at him. He never wants to look away. 

Isak rocks his hips against the bulge in Even's pants, he just needs to know exactly how Even will look as he does. He's rewarded with the perfect sight of Even throwing his head back, long neck on display, tendons tight under his skin. 

He has to pause there, completely riveted by the vision Even makes, and the next thing Isak knows Even is fighting the buttons of Isak’s jeans, suddenly looking that much more desperate. 

As soon as Isak's pants are open enough Even wraps his large hand around Isak's dick, and this time it's Isak's turn to moan and throw his head back in pleasure. 

“Shit,” Even mutters, does this unexpected move with his body and then Isak's world shifts until he's lying on his back, Even hovering above him, between his legs. 

Isak spreads them, makes room for Even there, and he feels so right on top of him. Fits just perfectly, like they were made for this. For each other.

After a bruising kiss, that's over way to soon, that leaves Isak breathless all over again, Even pulls back and starts working on getting Isak's pants off. He's not exactly calm, but he's gentle with Isak, treats him with care and Isak has never tried that before. Has never been with someone who cared so much. 

It makes his heart swell, beat to a new, more complicated rhythm and Isak can barely recognize himself. It's never been like this, never felt like this much. 

He starts pushing his briefs off before Even is done pulling the pants over his feet, can't stand the wait, can’t stand not having him on top of him.

Even doesn't comment on it, let's Isak's desperation bleed into his own and just gets quicker and more efficient, until he lies down on top of Isak, both completely naked now. 

All that skin against his. Isak barely knows where to put his hands, where to start. He wants to touch Even everywhere, cover him in his scent and touch, until Even won't be able to remember ever being touched by anybody else. Until Even doesn't  _ want  _ to ever be touched by anybody else. 

Even kisses him, deep and long and wet, the kiss getting more and more heated. Isak is so ready, the kiss makes him lose the last of his restraint, makes him finally ask for more. 

“Even, come on,” he moans, spreads his legs further, eagerly showing Even just what he wants from him. 

“Yeah, okay.” Even sounds wrecked, voice rough and low and Isak’s dick twitches with it. He's sure that Even must be able to feel it, just how much he affects Isak, they're just too close for him to miss it. 

Even leans over, opens the drawer in the bedside table and pulls out a bottle of lube and some condoms. He puts them on the bed besides them, within easy reach and when he comes back to Isak, he doesn't kiss him like he expects him to. Instead he keeps back, gently caresses Isak's cheek with his thumb. 

“You have to walk me through this, tell me if I'm doing it wrong. I've never been with a guy like this before.” 

Isak opens his eyes wide in surprise, can't help the shocked tone of his voice as he says, “And you think I have?” 

Even pulls back a bit more, frowning, like he can't believe what Isak is saying. “I just… at the club? You were so forward?”

And yeah, okay. Isak can see how that might have looked. He's not sure if he should feel offended by what Even's implying, but he doesn't seem upset by  _ that _ , more incredulous that Isak doesn't have as much experience as he imagined. 

“So, I've been hooking up with guys at that club for a while, that’s true. Sometimes that was the only way I could survive. But I've never done anything more than that. I never wanted my first time to be in a stall in a public bathroom.” He tries to make sure his tone is light and unaccusing. He still very much wants to do this with Even, doesn’t want the mood to change. 

Hopes that the same is true for Even. 

Even’s thumb has stilled on his cheek, and his eyes are roaming Isak’s face, like he isn’t sure what that means, or how to react to what Isak is saying. He’s biting his bottom lip again, dragging it between his teeth, and Isak can see the insecurity appearing behind his eyes. 

It’s like their insecurities move between, them like a bubble, never coming to rest in the middle. 

Somehow, that image makes something settle in Isak. If they’re both equally nervous about this, about all of this, then maybe they can manage to be brave together. 

He puts his own thumb to Even’s cheek, mimics Even’s move and caresses it. Tries to smile softly, encouragingly. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, softly. “All of it.” He pushes a strand of Even’s hair behind his ear, runs the tips of his fingers down his neck, along his spine. “And there’s no one I’d rather figure it out with.” 

He feels Even relax against him, along the entire length of his body, feels him let out a long, relieved breath against his face. 

“Me too,” he almost-whispers, but he’s smiling now, his eyes intense and locked on Isak’s, “no one else.” 

When their lips meet again, it’s slower, softer. Even pulls him in, catches Isak’s bottom lip between his own and Isak can feel that he’s still smiling. He’s a little heavy on top of him, his full weight resting on Isak, but it’s a good weight. Makes him feel sure that this is real. 

It’s like his sense of touch is heightened, like his skin has been fine tuned. Everywhere Even’s skin touches his – Even’s hand on his cheek, Even’s stomach against his, Even’s dick hard along the line of his hip bone – feels like it’s glowing, like it’s way more sensitive than usual. Like the entire year, every time he’s imagined that it was Even’s hand around him rather than his own and every time he’s brought Even’s shirt out of its hiding place and tried to catch the last hint of Even’s smell on it, is concentrated in his skin. 

Just Even’s fingers, tracing a line down his cheek, jaw, down his chest and over his nipple, almost makes him shiver, forces him to break the kiss for a moment to just breathe, breathe through all that he’s feeling. 

That he gets to have this. That he’s here. With Even. 

Even runs his hand over his waist, over his ass, lightly, tentatively. His fingers glance over Isak’s crack, just barely, and the anticipation of more makes Isak’s breath hitch. But Even’s hand moves on, to his hip, his thigh, only to return again, graze over Isak’s ass, then along his crack. 

It’s maddening. 

When it happens a third time, Isak feels ready to burst. He’s harder than he can ever remember being, his dick straining against his stomach, and his skin feels like it might burst into flames. Every time Even’s fingers come close to his crack he pushes against them, without thinking, desperate just to get them inside him, to get some more stimulation. He bucks his hips against Even’s thigh when they move away, trying to create some friction against his dick. 

But Even still seems to be hesitating. 

Finally, Isak can’t take it anymore. He breaks the kiss, catches Even’s eye again, and tries not to sound as exasperated as he feels. 

“Even. I want you to finger me.  _ Please  _ finger me.” 

He’s too desperate to be able to muster up even a hint of embarrassment, even though he’s never been this forward before. 

Even swallows visibly. His cheeks are flushed, his brow glistening with sweat. His eyes are as blue as ever, bright and glowing. 

“Okay,” he says, and swallows again. “I-I can do that.” But he looks so nervous, and it’s making Isak nervous, too. 

“Even,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. He really wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting Even, confident, cocky Even, to act like this. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We have all the time in the world. We can slow down.” 

Even blinks at him. 

“No!” he says, sounding almost shocked at the idea. “I want to!” He shifts his weight a little, his straining dick rubbing against Isak’s hip, as if for emphasis. “I just... I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Oh. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised to hear Even say that, maybe it shouldn’t please him as much as  it does. But in this moment, he wonders if he’ll ever get used to hearing Even express how much he cares for him. 

He hopes not. He hopes that it’ll always feel as big, as  _ marvellous  _ as it does today. 

“You won’t,” he promises, and he hopes that Even gets that he means more than just sex. “You won’t hurt me.” 

Even nods, and finally –  _ finally – _ grabs the lube, coating his fingers with it. Isak spreads his legs more, pulls up his knees to make it easier for Even to reach.

Even shifts his body making it easier for Isak to carry his weight and then he leans down to kiss him. Isak is sure that it’s supposed to be a distraction, but with the way Even’s lips move against his, the way Even is holding his breath, Isak isn’t sure whether the kiss is supposed to be distracting to him or to Even.

This time, when Even’s hand brushes over his crack, it stays.

Isak can barely breathe from how slow Even fingers are moving on him, he shifts his hips, chases those fingers and the pleasure that he knows they’ll provide and with one final roll of his hips one of Even’s fingers slides over his hole, and fuck.

It’s like his entire body is on fire, just from that one touch. He makes a strangled sound in his throat, opens his eyes and looks straight into Even’s. Is surprised to find Even already looking at him, already cataloguing how he’s making Isak feel. But before Isak can really think that thought through, Even’s fingers slide over his hole again, and this time it’s with intention.

Isak hitches his leg higher on Even’s hip, wraps it around Even and pulls him closer. He needs to be able to rub against Even, needs some kind of relief for his dick, because he feels like he might burst through his skin, just from these small touches.

Even’s fingers circle Isak’s hole in smaller and smaller circles, getting closer and closer to where Isak wants them the most, and Isak can’t be still. His hips move with Even’s touches, and it just adds to the feeling how it’s like they’re doing this together.

Isak is losing his mind, can’t keep in the sounds, knows that his cheeks are blotchy and his skin sweaty. He feels like he should be worrying about how he looks, how much his desperation is showing, but he can’t. Even leaves no room for that kind of self-doubt, not with the way he’s looking at Isak, not with the way he’s so clearly showing his own desperation.

He wants Isak.

There’s absolutely no doubt in Isak’s mind how much Even wants him. It’s exhilarating. Addicting. It makes him put his hand on Even’s wrist to stop his movements, and he looks him straight in the eye as he holds his fingers still over his hole.

“Do it,” he says. He’s almost surprised just how certain he sounds, how steady his voice is. He needs Even’s insecurities to disappear as well, needs him to understand that Isak wants this just as much as him.

He watches Even swallow hard, watches his adam’s apple jump under the thin skin of his throat and then Even does.

The finger breaching him almost takes Isak by surprise, makes him moan, and although Even only goes as far as to the first knuckle, it’s already so good and not nearly enough.

“Is this okay?” Even asks against Isak’s lips and Isak nods furiously, can’t talk from how big his tongue feels in his mouth.

He moans and then he moans again as Even slowly slides further into him, and then his entire finger is inside of him. Isak breathes through it, tries to fight the way his balls are already pulling up, how perfect and  _ long _ Even’s finger feels.

“More,” he breathes into the small space between them. Even groans, pulls his finger out without any more hesitation and then he pushes back in with two.

Isak clenches his teeth to how good it feels. Clenches his eyes. Reaches up blindly with the hand that was on Even’s wrist to grab his neck and pull him down into a bruising kiss. It’s so much, he’s surrounded by Even, completely engulfed in him. He has never felt better than he does right this second.

Even slowly starts to move inside of Isak, slides his fingers tentatively in and out, and the pull on his rim, the feeling of Even stretching him, getting him ready for him, is almost too much for Isak.

“It’s so good,” he breathes, flushes from how wrecked he already sounds but he can feel Even’s dick jump at it against his thigh, and that’s all it takes for Even to start fucking him a bit harder with his fingers.

Isak’s toes are curling hard against Even’s calf, his other hand has a tight grip on Even’s waist, pulling him closer and he’s so ready for more. Rolls his hips over and over again, meets Even’s fingers with every movement and Even is scissoring his fingers, stretching Isak.

Even’s lips leaves Isak’s, kisses down his cheek to his jaw where he whispers in his ear, “You want one more?”

And Isak doesn’t hesitate to shake his head, he’s already so close to losing it from just two fingers that he can’t imagine what three will do to him.

“No, just… Just do it. I’m ready.”

Even looks at him, eyes intense and Isak fights the urge to close his own. He wants to make sure that Even sees, that Even understands that Isak isn’t saying it for his benefit, but for his own.

Finally, he nods, smiles a small smile that’s a little bit more stiff than it normally is and then he pulls his fingers out of Isak and leans over to grab a condom.

Isak already feels so empty. He hates not having Even inside of him, hates the space that it creates between them. But he doesn’t complain, understands the necessity of what Even’s doing and instead he watches Even put on the condom.

It’s weird. Isak has seen his share of dicks, likes looking at them, feeling them,  _ tasting _ them. But he’s never seen one that’s quite as inviting as Even’s. He fights the urge to reach for it, to feel the weight of it in his hand, on his tongue.

The click of the lube opening pulls him from his thoughts, makes him divert his eyes from Even’s glorious dick to his hands. He watches Even drench his dick in lube and that sight alone is enough to make Isak lose his focus, enough to let the want take over once again.

He whines, low, barely audible, but it’s enough to catch Even’s attention. Even’s eyes finds his and he looks so good like that that Isak can barely stand it. Pupils blown, lips puffy, flushed and sweaty. Dick hard and ready.

Isak can’t wait anymore.

He grabs Even’s arm and pulls. Even follows him easily, puts his weight on his hand on the bed next to Isak’s head, makes room between Isak’s legs. He leans down to kiss Isak once more as he lines himself up and the feeling of Even’s dick there, the blunt pressure against his hole is enough to make Isak’s mouth dry. He spreads his legs more, shows Even that he’s ready for him, and with baited breath Even starts pushing in.

It’s a lot. It doesn’t hurt but it’s so much pressure, a weird kind of stretch, and Isak isn’t sure it’s completely enjoyable at first. Even keeps sliding into him, one long slow movement and Isak tries to focus on breathing through it, bearing down, making it easier on the both of them.

When Even’s hips finally meet Isak’s, when he’s so far inside of him he can go, Even pauses there. His breathing is labored, his skin flushed with sweat and as Isak runs his hands up his back in a reassuring way he feels how Even is shaking.

Isak isn’t sure that Even not moving is a good idea. It seems to emphasize the stretch, how big Even feels inside of him, how it’s not really pleasurable yet. Isak really wants it to be, is sure that if Even just moved it would be.

Even seems to be hiding in Isak’s neck, just stays there and it’s making Isak feel insecure all over again.

He wants to ask Even why he isn’t moving but doesn’t quite know how. He lets his hands move along Even’s skin instead, hopes he can calm him down by doing that, because Even is so tense on top of him.

“Isak,” Even whispers in his ear, sounding like he’s trying to restrain himself with the way his voice is shaking. “Please tell me you’re ready for more, that I can move.”

Isak exhales roughly, releasing the tension in his body in relief as he does. “Yes, do it.”

The first long slide out still feels weird, foreign, but then Even thrust forward and oh. Yeah,  _ that _ Isak gets. It makes his skin heat up, makes his dick jump and punches a sound out of him he’s sure he’s never made before.

Even does it again and this time it’s better. This time it doesn’t feel weird, it just feels good. Isak notices how it pulls at his rim, how the nerves there light up as Even’s dick drags over it and he already wants more.

He turns his head, his lips desperately looking for Even’s. They drag over Even’s ear, down his cheek and he pushes at him with his chin until Even gets the idea and turns his head enough that their lips can meet. And Isak moans into it, loves this, loves being this close to Even.

Even is everywhere. The way he’s moving in him fills him up, makes it hard to focus on anything except how the pleasure is starting to radiate from his ass throughout his body, slowly setting him on fire from the inside out.

He gasps into Even’s mouth, lets Even swallow that sound and all the others that are starting to pour from him. He can’t control it. There’s just so much happening in his body.

Even snaps his hips and the way that makes his dick move in Isak, a little bit harder, a little bit faster makes Isak groan, makes him slack mouthed and lose focus of the kiss.

He must’ve closed his eyes because when he opens them again he finds Even looking at him, intently, like he’s monitoring every reaction Isak is having. Like he’s trying to memorize it. And that makes Isak’s heart burst, makes him smile and roll his hips with Even’s.

They fit so perfectly together.

Even speeds up, his hips rolling against Isak’s, getting deeper and deeper inside of Isak with every thrust. Isak hitches his legs further and further, tries to accommodate Even, keeps trying to make more room for him, just wants him to keep making him feel this much.

“You feel so good, it’s so good,” Even breathes, like the words are pulled from him. Like he can’t help it. And Isak nods, whispers  _ yeah _ because he can’t possibly find any other words.

His mind is just a tangle of  _ good _ and  _ more _ and  _ Even _ , he’s never felt anything like it, how his mind just surrenders to his body, lets it take over completely.

He loves everything about this, he loves the weight of Even as he moves on top of him, the drag of his skin against his, the way his breaths washes over his skin. He loves how Even feels on him, in him, loves how he’s making new room inside Isak. Like he belongs there, like he’s meant to be there.

Isak is so hard, every thrust makes the skin of Even’s stomach slide against the tip and he feels how he’s making it wet and easy to slide against with every movement. It sends small zaps of electricity through his dick every time, all the way to his ass and he clenches around Even, wants to feel him even more.

Even puts his arms under him, around him, pulls them as close as they can possibly get and then he starts rolling his hips harder, clearly getting close himself. And Isak almost stops breathing from this new angle. Even’s dick is touching places inside of him that lights him up, makes him run his nails over the skin of Even’s back. The sounds pouring from him feel foreign and strange in his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He wants Even to hear how he’s affecting him, how good he’s making Isak feel.

Isak’s balls pull up tight, he needs to touch his dick, he’s so close he almost can’t stand it. He releases Even’s neck, tries to get his hand between them but it’s impossible with the way they’re moving.

“Even, I…” he says but his words turn into a moan instead as Even stabs into his prostate like he knew it was there. He knows he’s shaking, knows that it would take so little, he just needs to touch, needs to get his hand on it, so he swallows the dryness in his mouth away and tries again. “I’m so close.”

“Fuck, me too,” Even mutters and Isak clenches his eyes and jaw at how gone Even sounds. At how Isak’s words make him speed up even more, like he’s finally starting to chase it.

Even holds him so tight, like he’s worth so much, like he can’t stand to be apart from him either. Isak gives up on getting a hand on his dick, just wraps his arms around Even and holds on tight. Puts his legs around him as well, loves how the way Even clings to him mirrors his own desperation, his own need to be close.

He tries to shift his focus from his own pulsing dick to Even. To how how close he is, the sounds he’s making, the way his lips move against the skin on his throat.

It’s almost overwhelming.

That after all this time, they’re finally together. After all the nights Isak has spent dreaming about that, thinking about exactly this, he’s here. They’re here. Even feels so right in his body, in his arms. And it settles something in Isak to hear how he’s giving this boy pleasure, just by opening up to him. It makes his heart feel too big in his chest, makes him tighten his grip on Even a bit more.

Even whispers Isak’s name one last time against his throat, makes a strangled sound and then with a hard thrust that buries him deep, deep inside of Isak he starts coming.

Isak holds him through it, through the convulsions and the shivers. Loves how he feels in his arms, how his dick jumps inside of him, the way he clings to him. Loves knowing that he’s the reason for all this, the reason why Even is feeling good right now. 

The sounds Even are making go straight to his dick, reminds him all over again just how desperately he still needs to come.

Even stills on top of him, puts all his weight down on Isak. He’s breathing hard, sweating but Isak can feel how he’s smiling against his skin.

Isak knows he should wait, knows that he should let Even lie there so he can keep the feeling of his orgasm in him as long as possible, but Isak can’t. He  _ can’t _ , his dick is almost starting to hurt now, a deep aching continuous throb in his groin that needs to be dealt with and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips against Even’s. He needs friction, he needs to be touched, he  _ needs _ .

And even though Even just came, even though he should be basking in it, he shifts his weight so he can slide his hand down Isak’s stomach until it reaches his dick. He doesn’t waste any time, just starts stroking immediately.

Isak almost swallows his tongue, Even’s hand is so big and so warm, feels so perfect. Even sets a fast rhythm, like he senses Isak’s desperation, like he wants to make sure that Isak gets to feel just as good as him.

The still hard dick in his ass, the hand on his dick, it’s almost too much. There’s so much sensation radiating through his body, filling every crevice of him. It’s an onslaught on his senses and Isak almost can’t keep up.

It’s perfect.

He opens his eyes, wants to see Even, needs it. Needs to know he’s not alone in feeling this, and the second his eyes finds Even’s it’s clear to see he isn’t.

Even’s eyes are all over Isak’s face, taking him in, and it’s so obvious how much he’s enjoying seeing Isak’s reactions. Isak is hurling towards the finish line, and it’s never been like this. He’s never had someone he could cling to, never wanted to do that as he was coming.

Even leans down and kisses him and it’s sweet and tender and gentle, like Isak matters, like Isak is enough. And it’s just what Isak needs.

As soon as Even’s lips releases his, he starts coming.

It’s almost violent the way his body moves as he does. It’s like all that pleasure explodes inside of him, fills him up and then retreats back to his dick and his ass. He clenches hard around Even’s dick, forcing a groan out of Even that he barely registers before he starts shooting.

Even keeps stroking him, his hand coaxing rope after rope of cum out of him, painting himself and Even with it, and Even’s hand doesn’t stop moving through it. Isak is lost to it, hands gripping onto Even tight, like he can’t let go or he’ll fly away, but Even keeps him there. Grounds him.

He barely feels how Even puts his lips on his cheek, how his other hand keeps him close, but it somehow just prolongs his orgasm. He feels so safe here, already so cared for, and the thought  _ this is just the beginning _ flows through his mind and it’s all there’s room for in him.

Even continues until it’s almost too much, until Isak puts a hand on his wrist to stop him. He keeps his hand on him though, even though it must be drenched.

Isak keeps his eyes closed, lets himself float in that perfect place of contentedness. Where the blood is rapidly flowing through his body, body buzzing, muscles sore and used. He loves this. And he loves it even more that he gets to share this with Even.

Even who is slowly starting to move on top of him. Shifting his weight so Isak isn’t taking the brunt of it, while still keeping him close. Whose lips are dragging over his skin, reverently, affectionately, and Isak doesn’t know how Even does that. Makes even the smallest of touches feel like so much.

It leaves him wanting more.

He doesn’t fight the smile that breaks out, loves the feeling of Even’s own responding smile against his skin.

“I could get used to this,” Isak says in a low voice, full of intimacy.

Even hums, a happy sound that makes Isak open his eyes once more and what he sees takes his breath away. Even looks so satisfied, so relaxed. His eyes are full of love and tenderness.

It’s addicting, the way Even makes him feel.

Like he’s enough. Like he’s all Even needs.

It’s hard to believe that he could be that for someone else. After feeling alone, after doubting himself for so long. But there’s just no doubt that Even already cares for him deeply. He’s not hiding it at all with those eyes.

So Isak leans up and kisses him, has to know if it tastes as good as it looks.

When he pulls back, it’s only so he can speak, barely any room between them.

“I could get used to  _ this _ ,” he whispers.

This time Even doesn’t hum in answer, this time he leans down and kisses Isak again, long and soft and perfect, until he whispers back. “Me too.”

And Isak has never wanted to live in a moment quite as badly as he does now. He wants to freeze time, lets this be all there ever is. He knows that this is enough. There doesn’t have to be more.

Just them. Just this. Nothing more and nothing else.

It’s easy to give in to this idea, to this feeling. It’s like being born anew, like a rebirth. 

And even he sees the symbolism in that.  

\--||--

The first thing he registers is how warm the color of the inside of his eyelids are. They glow red as he blinks, slowly, against the sun streaming through the window. Then, he notices how warm his feet are. How his calves seem to be covered in a layer of sticky sweat. 

Sometime during the night, or maybe in the early hours of the morning, the duvet apparently travelled down to his hips. He hopes Even doesn’t think he hogged it, or kicked it off them, after they fell asleep last night. 

He turns to his side to ask him, eyes still mostly closed from how bright the room is. He wonders briefly if Even is awake yet, or if it’s okay to wake him up if he isn’t. 

He doesn’t know if Even likes to sleep in on the weekends. That’s probably something you should know before you move in with someone. But on the other hand, he can learn all those things now. Without any interruptions.  

Even’s side of the bed is empty. 

Isak’s stomach flips. For a moment, a wave of panic wells through up, up through his chest. 

Even isn’t here. He’s gone. He’s left. 

He puts his arm out, can’t help himself but to feel the bed, wonders if it’s still warm. It’s not. It’s cold like it’s been a while since Even was there with him. 

He sits up in the bed, looks around confused like it’s possible for him to see where Even has gone to. But then, he hears something rattle, and crash. 

At first he doesn’t understand what it is. 

Then he hears it again, and somehow, his brain connects the dots: glass against glass, china against metal. 

When he strains, he can hear Even singing softly. 

He lies back again, and has to just smile at the ceiling for a moment. 

It’s like something out of his dreams. It’s  _ better  _ than his dreams. 

Waking up in  _ their  _ apartment, in  _ their  _ bed, with Even on the other side of the wall. 

He can’t believe this is his life. 

It’s like he can still feel Even’s body, Even’s skin against his. Feel him inside him. It’s like there’s something missing, now that he can’t touch him. His fingers actually feel like they’re itching now that they’re not skin to skin. 

He grabs his t-shirt from where he dropped it on the floor the night before and pulls it on, together with his briefs. As he approaches the kitchen, Even’s humming grows louder, and Isak feels his smile grow as he realises what song it is. 

He didn’t even know that Even knew what day it was. 

Even doesn’t notice him at first. He stands at the stove, pushing something around in a pan, humming softly and wiggling his hips a little. It’s a little out of tune, a little off rhythm, and he is so cute that Isak can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. 

Even looks up at that, and gapes at him, eyebrows all the way up in his hairline.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be asleep!” 

Isak chuckles again at his pretended affront, and makes a move to go up and wrap his arms around him, but Even is quicker, puts a hand over his eyes and draws him into a kiss. Isak can feel him smiling against his lips, and he wonders if either of them has stopped smiling since they saw each other again. If they’ll ever stop smiling. 

“You’re supposed to be in bed!” Even says again, against his lips, his hand still over Isak’s eyes. “That’s the rule! And at least pretend to be asleep.” 

Isak tries to make himself look serious, tries to show that he understands the severity of what he’s done, but he can’t tamp down on his smile, on his straining cheeks. 

Even spins him around and leads him out of the kitchen. Their legs tangle as Isak stumbles blindly over the threshold. Once they’re over it, Even lets him go. 

“No peeking!” he mumbles against his cheek, before disappearing behind him. 

Isak is still smiling as he crawls back into bed, listening to the sounds of Even making breakfast. He rests an arm behind his head, lets the sun warm his face, his chest. 

He can’t remember when he last felt this… good. Just, good. Maybe it’s the sex they had last night, or the relief of finally being here, but he feels more well rested than he has in at least a year. There was no indescribable, indefinable worry gnawing in his stomach when he opened his eyes. When he looks ahead, at the day stretching out in front of them, there’s no dread. 

Just contentment. Happiness. 

He should probably be more worried than he is. His parents haven’t called yet, but he knows they will. He knows that he’ll have to lie to them, will have to tell them about the student room he told them he’d gotten. He’s already thought about what he’ll say, how he’ll complain that the kitchen is messy, that his neighbors seem nice but a bit loud.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do the day they want to visit. 

He should be nervous about that. He  _ has  _ been nervous about it, almost spilled everything to his mom when he hugged her goodbye yesterday. But now, there’s no trace of his guilty conscience. It’s like it’s evaporated. Like it was never there. It’ll probably return, at one point or another, but not right now. 

Right now, he’s just happy. 

The humming grows stronger, turns into actual singing. The familiar words, that he’s heard every year as long as he can remember. 

Even pushes the door open with his elbow, a tray in his hands, teeming precariously with food, coffee, juice. A single candle is stuck into a piece of cake, flickering under Even’s breath. 

His smile is blinding. 

It looks like he’s trying to focus on carrying the tray, on not tripping over the clothes that litter the floor, on not spilling, but he’s not quite managing. He keeps looking up at Isak, grinning at him, and every time he does, Isak feels like his heart is at just a big risk of welling over as the coffee on Even’s tray. 

Right now, if someone were to ask him what heaven would be like, he would say that it would feel like Even looking at him. 

He can’t imagine anything better. 

Even sets the tray down on the nightstand, and, miraculously, everything looks to be in one piece. There’s a ring of coffee around each mug, but other than that, it looks perfect. 

Then again, how could it be anything else. 

Even lifts up the duvet and crawls into bed next to him, gives him a quick, smiley peck. He picks up a plate of eggs from the tray, and two forks, handing Isak one and keeping the other for himself. He looks so thrilled with himself, with how he’s fixed them breakfast, that Isak has to kiss him again, carefully so not to spill eggs in the bed. It’s still a little too warm under duvet, especially now with Even’s added body heat, but it doesn’t bother him anymore. Right now, he wouldn’t move for anything. 

The eggs are amazing. Isak suddenly realises how hungry he is, how long it’s been since he ate properly. They never really took the time for it yesterday. He gulps down the eggs, leaving almost nothing for Even. 

Even just laughs at him, tells him it’s a secret recipe, with something that’s probably supposed to be a wink. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t be more adorable. 

On the other nightstand, his phone buzzes. He means to ignore it. Doesn’t want anything to burst the bubble that they’re in right now. Just wants to stay here forever, just the two of them. 

Or at least, for as long as possible. 

But Even cranes his long neck to check for the sound, and when he locates it, he looks expectantly at Isak. 

“Don’t you want to see who it is?” 

He already knows, but he reaches for it anyway. Unlocks the screen, and it fills with facebook notifications from familiar faces. 

Even’s face falls. 

Every single member of the congregation seems to have written on his wall, sent him congratulations, blessings, peace. And then there’s a text message from his dad, asking when they can call. 

He almost slams it down on the nightstand again, face down. 

Even’s smile is gone, and it makes Isak’s stomach drop. All he wants is for Even to smile, always. But because of him, because of his fucking family, his fucking father – he can’t. 

Because of him, it’ll always be complicated. 

Even takes the empty plate from him, puts it back on the tray. Settles even closer, as close as they can be without being on top of each other, and takes Isak’s hand. Laces their fingers together. He tries to focus on that, on the feeling of Even’s fingers between his own. On their grip on each other. 

“Do you miss them?” he asks, his voice low. There’s a note of worry in it, and when Isak looks up at him, he sees the same worry in Even’s eyes, in the crease between his brows. 

It makes him want to lie. It makes him want to tell him that no, never, this is enough, they are enough and will always be enough. 

But he’s been lying all his life. 

Those notifications are all from people he’s lied to. People who care about him, but who don’t know him. Who’ll never know him. He doesn’t want it to be like that between him and Even. 

He grips Even’s hand a little tighter, runs his thumb over his knuckles. Swallows. 

“Not right now,” he says, and looks into Even’s eyes as he does. He has to make sure that Even understands what he’s saying, what he’s trying to convey. “I… I grew up in that church, you know. We moved there when I was just born. They’ve seen me grow up, and despite everything, I had a place there.” Even nods, slowly, like he’s really focusing on what Isak is saying, focusing on understanding him, and that gives him the boost he needs to go on. “And… I can’t promise that I won’t miss them. Or maybe the idea of them, of having a community like that. But I could never go back there.” He almost runs out of breath, trying to get his thoughts out before they disappear on him. “I could never be happy there. I don’t think I could be happy anywhere, without you.” 

Even lets go of his hand, and runs his fingers over Isak’s cheek, through his hair, before pulling him in into a soft kiss, like he’s trying to convey everything he’s thinking through it. 

When they break apart, he leans his forehead against Isak’s. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, almost in a whisper. “All of it. We’ll make our own community here.” He smiles, and his breath is warm on Isak’s face. 

Isak believes him. Every cell in his body screams how right this feels. How true Even feels. It makes it so easy to forget about the phone still buzzing on the table, about the guilty conscience.

Why should he feel guilty when he gets to have this?

“Happy birthday baby,” Even says, eyes bright and smile contagious.

And for the first time ever, it really feels like it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been such a pleasure to write and although this was written for Maugurt, we hope you guys enjoyed it too. xD
> 
> If you did, just know that kudos and comments make us really happy *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* ;) ;)
> 
> We are nofeartina and champagneleftie on tumblr, come play.


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